


Mercy for the Prince

by unspeakable3



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Black Family-centric (Harry Potter), Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Drama, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Family Issues, Family Reunions, Feelings, Feels, Gen, Getting Back Together, Godfather Sirius Black, Good Regulus Black, Harry Potter was Raised by Other(s), Harry Potter was Raised by Sirius Black, Horcrux Hunting, Idiots in Love, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Minor Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, POV Multiple, POV Regulus Black, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Remus Lupin, Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Regulus Black Deserves Better, Regulus Black Feels, Regulus Black Lives, Regulus Black-centric, Slow Build, Slow Burn, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-05-02 04:37:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 69,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19191973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unspeakable3/pseuds/unspeakable3
Summary: Regulus took one last look around the small cottage that had been his home for the past decade and wondered, yet again, if he was doing the right thing in returning home. He could stay here in this tiny Greek village where nobody knew his real name and nobody had ever seen the terrible dark stain on his forearm. Where nobody knew the price he had paid for his freedom.But she was in danger, again. He had failed her. Again.(Regulus lives AU. Story begins in 1992. On hiatus!)





	1. regressus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He couldn’t be back. He was dead. He’d been dead for almost thirteen years.

A doorman dressed in a smart red jacket with shining gold buttons flung open the theatre’s front doors. The light from the lamplit foyer cast a warm yellow glow onto the dirty London streets and disturbed a rat from its scavenged feast; it scurried into the shadows once more before it could be spotted and shrieked at and stamped on.

A witch and a wizard were among the throng of theatre patrons that were ascending the steps from the stalls and descending the steps from the circles and beginning to flood out into the noisy street. The witch was small with hair almost as golden as the doorman’s buttons; the wizard was tall with the kindest eyes you’ve ever seen, eyes that immediately made you feel trusting and safe. Both the witch and the wizard had hearts that tended towards melancholy these days, and they often sought refuge together in the theatre. Plays, ballets, opera… they weren’t fussy as long as it helped them forget their own sorrows and losses for a few hours.

Tonight had been a ballet: Prokofiev’s _Romeo and Juliet_ , the witch’s favourite. It had been the first ballet she had ever seen, the weekend after her sixteenth birthday, and they had both seen it many times in the years since then. But tonight had been the first time that the witch had been sitting in the stalls for a performance and it had been something of an experience. She had been thrilled at seeing the dancers from this new angle, of hearing every landing and seeing every muscle strain to hold its position. _Marvellous_.

Their arms were linked as they weaved their way through groups of excitable chattering muggles, some huddled beneath umbrellas or holding their coats over their heads as they debated whether to splash out on a taxi or make a run for the nearest tube station. Because it was April in London so of course it was raining. Cats and dogs, the muggles apparently called it, though what resemblance rain held to cats or dogs Clementine couldn’t tell you. Perhaps it looked different to them.

“Here, get yourself under this,” Remus insisted, pressing the handle of an opened umbrella into her hands.

“What about you?” Clementine asked, moving closer and holding the umbrella up higher so it might cover him too. It didn’t work all that well seeing as he was considerably taller than she was and the rain appeared to be falling _sideways_ as if they were back in Scotland or something.

Remus chuckled and ducked out from beneath the umbrella, turning up the collar of his coat and hunkering down. The rain wasn’t all that bad; nothing a Welshman couldn’t handle. “Don’t worry about me, Carina would hex me to the high heavens if I let you catch so much as a cold. Come on now, there’s an alley just around this corner we can use to apparate from.”

He took her hand as they hurried along the street, avoiding puddles and splashes from the noisy traffic wherever they could. The alley wasn’t far away, and was thankfully deserted when they reached it. Remus led Clementine to a space between two heaving industrial bins and beneath a small striped awning that offered a little protection from the rain, as she tucked the umbrella away again.

“Ready?” he asked. She nodded and wrapped her hands around his arm again. They turned together and the alleyway disappeared, reforming a moment later as a far more familiar street on the other side of London. Home.

The smart black-painted door creaked open of its own accord as they jogged up the damp stone steps, and closed itself behind them again. They stepped into a gloomy hallway, lit by candlelight. Clementine shrieked as Remus shook the raindrops from his sandy-brown hair, and she swatted at his arm.

“You are a _pest_ , Remus Lupin!”

He laughed at her, but conjured a soft towel to dry his hair properly. She deposited their umbrella in its stand by the front door — a much more tasteful one than the hideous _troll’s leg_ that had been there previously, honestly the Blacks were just too macabre for their own good at times — and shrugged off her raincoat. It was only when Remus reminded her of the hot chocolate he’d promised her back at the theatre and she turned to descend into the basement kitchen that she noticed Sirius loitering halfway down the hallway.

“Oh, hello darling! We weren’t sure if you’d be in tonight!” she said with delight, darting along the corridor to greet him with a kiss on the cheek. “Are you alright? You look dreadfully pale.”

“Clementine,” he said, his voice and his jaw unusually tight with emotion. “There’s someone here.”

“Excuse me?” she said, non-plussed. It wasn’t so often that they had visitors arrive unannounced these days, especially not when it was term-time and the children were at school.

“Who?” asked Remus, wand drawn and arm wrapped protectively around Clementine’s shoulders, pushing himself in front of her.

Sirius stepped to the side, out of the doorway of the ground floor sitting room. What had once been the Blacks’ formal receiving-room had since become the ‘comfy room’, as the children liked to call it; all squishy sofas and soft cushions and even a _television_ that Carina could happily spend all day sat in front of if they let her. And out of the shadows of that room, and into the wedge of light that the open door let in, stepped a man.

Not a man. A _ghost_.

Clementine gasped and stumbled backwards as Remus gripped her upper arm, his wand still raised. It couldn’t be. He was _dead_. But he wasn’t, he was there, flesh and bone and all. She was trembling, she realised, and his hands were shaking too though he was clasping them tightly in front of him. She raised her eyes to meet his, ocean blue meeting stone grey. Tears prickled. He took a step towards her. She felt as though she might burst into a thousand speckles of stardust and return to the heavens from whence she came if her body shook any more.

“What is the meaning of this?” demanded Remus, his Welsh accent always coming out stronger when he was angry.

“He’s back,” Sirius said simply. Stupidly.

He couldn’t be _back_. He was _dead_. He’d been dead for almost _thirteen years_.

“How could you?” Clementine whispered, though to which Black brother she was speaking it was impossible to tell. She drew a deep shuddering breath before untangling herself from Remus’s arm and she fled that dark, oppressive hallway. She needed air, she needed to breathe, she needed to get the hell away from whatever was in that room. Three voices called after her as she stumbled down the steps of 12, Grimmauld Place and out into the damp and gloomy night. Footsteps followed her but she turned and apparated before they could reach her.

 

* * *

Regulus took one last look around the small cottage that had been his home for the past decade and wondered, yet again, if he was doing the right thing in returning home. He could stay here in this tiny Greek village where nobody knew his real name and nobody had ever seen the terrible dark stain on his forearm. Where nobody knew the price he had paid for his freedom.

But she was in danger, again. He had failed her. Again.

He turned to the worn table beneath the window and picked up the scrap of parchment that lay there, the only thing left in the room. _The rumours are true_ it read. Four simple words that had sent his world spinning into freefall once more. The Dark Lord was not dead. He was barely living, so far, but he was not dead. It was horrific to believe, but believe it he must: Voldemort had made more than one horcrux.

Regulus fingered the outline of the twisted and broken locket in his breast pocket and set the scrap of parchment aflame.

He didn’t know why he had kept the locket. As a trophy, perhaps. A reminder of his duty and the sacrifice he had made, the life he had left behind. The love he had left behind. He pulled it out of his pocket by its chain and regarded its blackened, charred appearance. He wondered, for perhaps the thousandth time, if the Dark Lord had known when a part of his soul had been destroyed. Whether he knew that it was he, Regulus, who had done it.

With a sigh, he replaced Slytherin’s locket and picked up his suitcase. It contained only the essentials: some change of clothes, some gold, and, most importantly, a half-empty vial of basilisk venom and his hastily-continued research. Disguised, of course, as some rather boring treatises on Quidditch formations.

He apparated directly out of the cottage and to a spot in the hillside, pausing a moment or two before disappearing and emerging again on the coast. He continued this method of staggered apparition, leaving a trail of magic behind, but hoping it would be enough to throw any would-be followers off the scent. He imagined himself to be the beacon fires in Aeschylus’s _Agamemnon_ , lighting up a trail across thousands of miles to herald the return of the warrior-King. Of course, King Agamemnon ended up slaughtered by his own wife once he reached home. Regulus deserved the same fate; he could only hope Clementine would be more forgiving than Clytaemnestra.

It was dusk by the time he reached London. Grimmauld Place looked much the same as it ever had — cleaner, if anything, then he remembered. There were no lamps lit in the windows of his childhood home, but something about it felt off. The front door looked freshly painted. There were _window boxes_ filled with plants and they were _blooming_. His mother had never kept plants. Had she taken up gardening in her old age? He supposed she must do something to occupy her time. But where was she?

Regulus disillusioned himself before approaching the steps to 12, Grimmauld Place. The smart black door opened automatically to allow him entry and he stepped inside, as silently as he could manage. It was different inside, too. The troll’s foot was gone for a start. And he realised, as he peered up the gloomy hallway, Elladora’s decapitated house-elves were gone too. Though that wasn’t such a great loss.

He crept along the corridor and cast a silent _homenum revelio_. Shit. Someone was in the receiving room. He paused and weighed up his options: leave immediately, and return tomorrow when the house would hopefully be empty; creep upstairs and hope his journals were still in his room; creep _downstairs_ and hope Kreacher was still amenable to helping him; approach the unknown human and hope they were… well, he couldn’t think of anyone that wouldn’t want to kill him on sight. Even his mother would.

With a soft sigh, Regulus headed towards the staircase. He wouldn’t make much progress without his journals, and time was of the essence. Hopefully Clementine would have had the foresight to keep them safe in his writing-desk, in case they were ever needed again. In case _he_ was ever needed again.

He hadn’t even made it to the second stair when he felt the point of a wand digging into the back of his neck. He groaned inwardly at his idiocy, and stiffened at the sound of a gruff voice.

“Drop your wand,” the voice said. “ _Now_.”

Regulus complied, his wand clattering with an echo on the staircase and rolling to a halt somewhere behind him.

“Reveal yourself,” the voice commanded. “And turn around. Slowly.”

Regulus removed the disillusionment charm and turned to face his adversary, hands in the air as a sign of his compliance. How could this have gone so wrong so quickly?

“Reg?”

Regulus looked up, and couldn’t have been more surprised to see Merlin himself stood in the hallway of his childhood home.

“Sirius?”

“You’re… alive?”

“You’re… _home_?”

The two brothers eyed each other suspiciously but before Regulus could react Sirius’s wand was pointing at him again, this time directly at his chest.

“What did I give you for your ninth birthday?”

“What?”

“ _Answer me_ ,” Sirius growled.

“A real frog disguised as a chocolate one. It was hideous, you prat. I was sick for a week.”

Sirius slowly lowered his wand but still looked mightily conflicted. “Get in there,” he ordered, pointing with his wand to the door that had been left ajar. Regulus entered what had once been his mother’s formal receiving room and was now… well, _not_.

“You’ve redecorated,” he said lightly, and took a seat on a rather plump couch.

“We made it more of a home than a mausoleum, yes,” Sirius replied, and sat himself on the couch opposite.

“What do you mean, _we_?”

“Remus and Clementine are living here too.”

Regulus’s heart stopped. Surely not. _Here_. With _him_? “Clementine? My Clementine?”

“I think you gave up any right to call her _your_ Clementine in 1979.”

“What the hell is she doing here with _you_?”

Sirius put up a hand to hush him as the front door opened and closed once more. Regulus heard shrieks of laughter and then his blood ran cold as he heard her voice. _Her_ voice. The first time he had heard her voice in twelve long years and it was teasing Remus bloody Lupin. He stood and made to move back into the hallway but Sirius pushed him back, shaking his head. Regulus watched his older brother stand in the doorway, watched as the love of his life called his brother _darling_ and _kissed his cheek_. He hadn’t realised how cruel life could be until this very moment.

Scrap that. _This_ moment.

The _werewolf_ was holding her arm, holding her back, as if _he_ , Regulus, was the one more likely to harm her. His Clementine. His good, sweet, angelic Clementine couldn’t even bring herself to look at him without shaking and oh god, she was going to be sick and he deserved this _he deserved worse than this_ but truly he would prefer it if she would shout at him and curse him and hex him and bloody anything but turn and flee.

“Clementine!” he shouted after her, brushing Sirius’s arm aside as he chased after her but he was too late, she was gone. Disapparated right in front of him.

“Where is she?” he demanded, turning to face his brother and the werewolf. “Where has my wife gone?”

“I’ll go after her,” the werewolf said in that irritatingly calm voice of his, and patted Sirius on the arm. “You get him under control.”

“I am under control!” Regulus yelled. “ _Where is she_?”

 

 


	2. frater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gods, no. That surely wasn’t why the werewolf was here? What on earth had he missed? Where the bloody hell was his house-elf?

Sirius placed his hands on his brother’s shoulders and firmly turned him back in the direction of the house as Remus disapparated with a satisfying _pop_! Regulus tried to shake him off but Sirius tightened his grip and marched his brother up the steps and through the hallway and back into the sitting room.

“Right,” he said, running a hand over his face. “Right.”

“Give me my wand,” Regulus demanded, hand outstretched.

“Not until you calm down.”

“I am calm!”

“You’re not calm, you’re shouting!”

“WHAT DO YOU EXPECT, MY WIFE JUST RAN AWAY FROM ME!”

“OH, LIKE HOW YOU RAN AWAY FROM HER TWELVE YEARS AGO?”

Regulus sat down, fuming. Sirius had a point. He hated when Sirius had a point. This was awful. This was going far worse than he had ever expected. Why the hell were they all living in his house? Why wasn’t Sirius still living in that shack they called a flat in Camden? Why wasn’t Clementine in that beautiful place in the countryside with her parents? He was deliriously happy that she apparently hadn’t remarried but… _why_ hadn’t she? She was beautiful, intelligent, pureblooded; they must have been lining up for her. Unless… no. Gods, no. That surely wasn’t why the werewolf was here? What on earth had he missed? Where the bloody hell was his house-elf?

“Where are mother and Kreacher?” he asked, finally.

“Mother is dead and Kreacher is at Hogwarts,” Sirius sighed.

“ _Hogwarts_?”

The news about his mother wasn’t all that surprising really; the Blacks had never seemed to live particularly long lives, Aunt Cassiopeia excluded, and his mother had always been a bit… off. But Kreacher, in Hogwarts… _that_ was unexpected.

“Kreacher stayed and helped with… stuff, for a bit, but he was really distressed around Clem so she thought it would be better for him to be at Hogwarts with the other elves,” he shrugged. “She really likes him for some reason.”

“Yes, well,” huffed Regulus. “My wife always did have more sense than _you_.”

“She didn’t have the sense to not get married to an idiot,” Sirius muttered.

“What are you doing here?”

“What are _you_ doing here?!”

Regulus folded his arms and fixed Sirius with the unwavering gaze that he’d learned from their father. Sirius fidgeted for a few uncomfortable minutes before he threw his hands up in surrender and huffed loudly. “Fine. _Fine_. But I’m just giving you the basics because this is Clem’s story to tell.”

Regulus acknowledged this with a tip of his head.

“After you… whatever. After everyone thought you were dead. Mother made Clem move back here. She went a bit… a bit more mad. Clemmie had to do everything, organise your funeral and all that nonsense. And deal with all the stuff you two had been plotting.”

Regulus swallowed. He hadn’t given a single thought to his _funeral_. Why would he? He hadn’t died, merely faked a death. But of course there would need to be a funeral… and of course it would have fallen to his apparent widow to organise it. He wondered what words she had spoken at the service. She would have looked beautiful in a black veil, her golden hair left long and loose, a single tear on her porcelain cheek. How long had she worn her mourning clothes?

Fuck — the Death Eaters would have been there. Her occlumency shields had always been weak. Fuck. What a mess he had left her in. He was the biggest fool in England.

“She found me. I don’t know how, she would never say, but she found me. I didn’t want to hear her at first, but she persisted. She told me everything, showed me all your journals, all the spells she’d been working on. She’s an extraordinary woman.”

“I am well aware of that,” Regulus said fondly.

“You don’t deserve her.”

“I am aware of that too.”

“Anyway, she told me what you’d done and then the war got worse. I protected her as much as I could, Remus was away a lot but he helped too, and James and Lily… Lily was great with her. But there was only so much we could give her. She insisted on staying here, with mother. On keeping up appearances. Then… Voldemort fell. Mother died. And we moved in.”

“I still don’t really understand why you chose to move here, of all places —”

“I’m not telling you any more. That’s for Clem to talk about, if she wants to,” Sirius said firmly. “Now, Reg, why are _you_ here?”

“That is something I also feel that I should discuss with Clementine first.”

“Really?” Sirius sighed.

“Yes.”

“Fine,” he huffed, throwing his hands up once more. “I’m going to make sure she’s alright. Don’t blow the house up while I’m gone.”

“That’s hardly likely without my wand,” muttered Regulus as he watched his brother stalk out of the room. The front door slammed, setting the portraits to muttering.

Regulus rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and groaned loudly. What a bloody _mess_ he’d made of this. His brother still thought he was an idiot, his wife couldn’t stand the sight of him, and there was a bloody werewolf living in his house. By Salazar, it was a good job his mother was dead. He’d be blasted off the tapestry before he — the tapestry!

He stood, straightened his shirt, and took a deep breath. He wondered if there had been any new additions. Had Cissy finally produced an heir for Malfoy? What about Bella? No, _that_ was rather unlikely. Would Clementine still be linked to his name…?

Regulus marched up the staircase, ignoring the questions and muttering from the portraits that lined the walls, and headed straight for the drawing room which had always been home to that sacred tapestry. He recalled the first time he had shown it to Clementine, the day before Cissy’s wedding, how enchanted she had been by it. _Exquisite_ , she had called it. She alone had truly understood how important it was to him, to his ancestors. That was the day that he realised his heart was no longer his own.

He opened the door to the drawing room and took a step back in shock. If the receiving room had been redecorated, this had been… he wasn’t sure if there were words enough to accurately describe it. The room was no longer dark and dreary, but full of light even though it was now dark outside. Wall sconces and an enormous golden chandelier had burst into light as soon as he had entered the room. The dark heavy curtains had been removed from the windows, and replaced with sheer drapes shimmering with golden thread. All traces of dark artefacts had gone (he did hope they hadn’t been sold; some of them had been in the family for _centuries_ ) to be replaced with… trophies? Photographs? Child’s drawings?

Regulus walked to the large fireplace — its dark green tiles and ebony wood replaced with lighter tones and golden hardware — and found its mantlepiece covered with framed photographs. Some of them, he noticed to his slight discomfort, were muggle and unmoving. There was a large one in the centre of the mantlepiece that he found himself drawn to and he picked it up, turning it over to see if there was an inscription somewhere. It was lacking. He looked again at the image: a boy and a girl dressed in casual muggle clothing, but standing on what was unmistakably Platform 9 3/4. The Hogwarts Express was behind them, bright red and freshly-polished, and there were children and parents bustling all around them in various states of wizarding and muggle dress. Their first day of school, perhaps?

He peered closer at the children. The boy had messy dark hair and glasses that reminded him horribly of Potter. But the girl… she looked just as Clementine had on her first day of school. He remembered. He’d been in the same boat as her as they crossed the Lake. This child had the same pale skin, the same long blonde hair tied back with a ribbon. The same bony wrists and wide, unfiltered smile. Surely… surely not. Regulus looked again at the boy. He could certainly pass for Sirius’s son: dark hair, unkempt appearance, hideous muggle fashion. Surely not.

The two children were of the same height, the same build. Not identical, but twins, perhaps… surely not.

Clementine had thought herself a widow. Did Sirius not just say that she went to him for help? For protection? For comfort? Did he not just say that he gave her as much as he could? Had she… had she traded one Black brother in for the other?

* * *

 

Clementine stumbled into the parlour of her parents’ old country house, her father’s warnings to never apparate while under emotional stress echoing in her ears, and collapsed into a heap on the floor. Her head fell onto the cushion of a dusty old armchair and she sobbed, uncomprehending. Deep, racking sobs that shook her very core.

How? How could it be _him_? Standing there, in her sitting room ( _his sitting room_ ), bold as anything. He was supposed to be dead. He was supposed to have been dead for over twelve years. She’d written his obituary. She’d organised his funeral. She’d chosen the fucking words to be engraved on his headstone and watched his so-called friends lower his empty casket into the ground. _She had mourned him for longer than she had ever known him_.

How could he have done it? How could he have been alive all this time without her knowing? Were they not supposed to share some kind of sacred magical bond? He had never even tried to contact her. Did she not mean anything to him? Did their _child_ not mean anything to him? How foolish she had been! She had cried herself to sleep every single night since that most terrible of days when Kreacher had come home alone. She thought about him every day. She dreamed about him every night. She still wore his ring. She still surrounded herself with his belongings. She had always told her daughter what a brave, noble, _good_ man he had been. _Why_ would he do this?

They had done it all together. She had believed him and she had _trusted_ him, despite her friends’ warnings. Despite her parents’ misgivings about his family. She had convinced them all, because _he_ had convinced _her_. They had plotted and schemed together, they had worked together to destroy the Dark Lord, to end the war, to live together happily and in safety and in peace. He couldn’t have just disappeared. He must have planned this. Why hadn’t he told her? Why hadn’t he taken her with him? Why had he abandoned her?

Strong arms pulled her into a hug and she sobbed harder, her hot wet tears soaking through his shirt. He didn’t speak to her, didn’t try to talk her out of her crying, didn’t give her false platitudes or pretend that it would all be okay. Remus just held her close, like he had done so many times over the years. Like _he_ had done years before that. He rubbed her back and stroked her hair until her tears finally subsided into hiccups.

“How could he?” she mumbled into his chest, her voice cracking.

“I don’t know, love. He must have had a very good reason.”

“Did Sirius know? All this time?”

“No. He couldn’t have — _wouldn’t_ have — kept that a secret from either of us.”

Clementine supposed that was true, at least. Sirius was a terrible liar. Especially to Remus. He couldn’t even lie about using the last of the milk whenever Remus was around. Which was _always_ , the soppy thing.

“What am I going to tell Carina?”

“The truth. Just as you always have.”

Her daughter was barely twelve years old yet Clementine had never once kept the truth from her. She didn’t believe in babying children, in hiding things from them. If _her_ parents and teachers hadn’t kept things hidden, she might have made wiser decisions in her youth. So when Carina had asked how Remus got his scars, they told her the truth. When she had asked why Sirius sometimes locked himself in his room with a bottle of whisky, they told her the truth. When she had asked why her mother’s hands kept shaking when she was upset, they told her the truth.

But this… this was bigger than all of those things. This had the potential to hurt Carina far more than anything else that had happened in her young life. If she told her that her father was alive, was _in their house_ … what if he disappeared again? Clementine knew the pain of that heartache all too well. Could she subject her daughter to the possibility of that same pain?

“Clemmie!” yelled Sirius as he darted into the room, falling to his knees on the dusty floorboards and pulling her out of Remus’s embrace. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t know, I swear I didn’t know, he just turned up and I didn’t know what to do, I nearly hexed him but I thought you might want to do that, I’m so sorry! Please don’t cry!”

Clementine couldn’t help but give a hoarse laugh as Sirius pawed at her face in an attempt to wipe away the mixture of tears and raindrops with his clumsy calloused thumbs.

“How are _you_ feeling about this?” Remus asked him.

Sirius shrugged and settled down on the floor, leaning back against the armchair. He pulled Clementine’s head to his shoulder and gripped her hand tightly. “I dunno. We weren’t exactly speaking when he… well, he apparently didn’t _die_ , but… whatever he did. I dunno.”

“Abandoned us?” suggested Clementine.

“Oh Clemmie,” Sirius sighed, and knocked his head against hers.

“Did Regulus know? About Carina?” asked Remus, and took her other hand.

Clementine shook her head. “ _I_ didn’t even know at that point. We’d been married barely a month. It took the Malfoys _years_ , I expected us to have to wait just as long.”

“Oh my sweet innocent pureblood princess, the men of the House of Black are very virile,” announced Sirius, waggling his eyebrows over her head at Remus. Who rolled his eyes. “Reg wouldn’t have just upped and left if he’d known you were preggers. He’d have loved parading a kid around, rubbing it in old Lucy’s face.”

“Not literally, I hope,” said Remus.

Clementine frowned, not sure how she felt about that. Her hand drifted to her stomach, to the memory of the baby that had been there all those years ago. She sometimes still fancied that she could feel Carina kicking around inside there. She’d liked watching her stomach swell with each passing day, knowing there was a piece of Regulus growing inside her, comparing her bump to Cissy’s. She had often dreamed about the other children that might have been: a boy, perhaps, or more girls, she didn’t care as long as they were healthy and happy and _his_. Would Regulus have stayed, if he’d known she was carrying his child? A potential heir for his precious family line? A wife alone hadn’t been enough, apparently. But a baby might have been, and that felt about as good as a wand to the eye.

“Do you want to come back home? Or stay here? We’ll stay here with you if you want to stay here. It’s a bit dusty but Remus is good at that stuff.”

“I’m not sure if it’s wise to leave him in that house on his own, Sirius,” she sniffed.

“What do you mean? You don’t think he’ll… do anything?”

“I don’t know. Apparently I never knew him at all.”

Clementine stood up, pulling the two men with her, and took a deep breath. She had to do this. She had to face him, she had to talk to him, and she had to be strong. If not for herself then for her daughter, who needed to know that she did have a father, after all. And that he might not be as wonderful as Clementine had painted him to be, but he was real. Carina deserved to know him. All of him.


	3. pater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And which of them is her father?” he asked tightly, placing the photograph back on the mantlepiece and turning his body fully towards her. “My brother, or the werewolf?”
> 
> “I take it all back. Her father is an idiot.”

They apparated back onto the steps of 12 Grimmauld Place, still holding hands, and Clementine paused to look up at Sirius as he felt for the wards.

“He’s in the drawing room,” he announced.

But of course he was. Clementine couldn’t imagine anything else he would want to see before the family tree. He must be _bursting_ with curiosity about any marriages, deaths, new births… gods, he’ll have seen Carina.

She barely heard Remus excuse himself and pull Sirius down towards the basement kitchen with him, leaving her alone to face the man who had once held her entire heart in his hands. She rushed to the bottom of the stairs and then stopped, one hand resting on the gleaming bannister. Her pulse was throbbing at her temple and she pressed her fingers to it, willing herself to relax, to stay calm, to breathe.

Clementine walked up the stairs at a much more sedate pace, trying to avoid the curious gazes of the centuries of portraits that had always lined these walls. Although they weren’t just portraits of the Blacks ancestors these days. Clementine’s parents and her grandparents hung here now, as did a beautiful enlarged photograph of the Lupins, and one of the Potters (Elvendork the cat included). Sirius had wanted to destroy every last Black portrait but Clementine had insisted that they keep them for posterity. For her daughter. The house would one day fall to her, after all. And family history was important. They must take care to never repeat the mistakes of their past.

Was this a mistake? Was _he_ a mistake she was doomed to repeat?

She paused in the doorway and rested a steadying hand against the doorframe. Regulus was stood beside the fireplace, angled towards the window and away from her. He looked less like a ghost in this warm light; more like the eighteen year old boy from her memories and dreams. Tall (though still a hair shorter than his brother, he’d always hated that), straight-backed, elegant. Perfect posture drilled into him practically from birth. His hair was as dark as it ever had been, still clipped short on the sides and longer, slightly wavy, on the top, always swept back from his forehead. She hated that her fingers itched to run through his hair again, hated that she longed to know if it was still as soft as it had been all those years ago.

“You have a daughter.”

He’d sensed her. He’d always been able to sense her presence, even if she’d been disillusioned and standing very, very still. He turned to face her and she saw that he was holding one of the many family photographs that now adorned the mantlepiece; a large, gilded one that showed Carina and Harry beaming and waving in front of the Hogwarts Express on their first day of school. Had that really been just seven months ago?

“I do,” she said quietly, stepping into the room and pressing the door shut behind her.

“And the boy?”

“Harry. We raised them together, Remus and Sirius and I.”

“How… unorthodox.”

“I wasn’t left with much choice,” she said coldly. How _dare_ he insinuate the same thing that all those nasty rumour-mongers in the gossip magazines did. How _dare_ he question the way she brought up their child when he hadn’t even bothered to stick around long enough to see her come into the world.

“I…” he looked around at her at last, words catching in his throat as he caught her gaze. She held it determinedly, unwilling to show him any sign of forgiveness. For now, at least. “She has her mother’s beauty.”

“And her father’s intelligence,” she said begrudgingly. Sweet Carina, always racing to be top of her class.

“And which of them is her father?” he asked tightly, placing the photograph back on the mantlepiece and turning his body fully towards her. “My brother, or the werewolf?”

“I take it all back. Her father is an idiot.”

How… just… _what_? Was he really that blind? Did he not know that Sirius and Remus were together, had been since school? Did he think that _little_ of her that she would just… oh the hexes she would throw at him if she weren’t so well-mannered and he weren’t so… frustratingly handsome.

He looked at her questioningly. She sighed. “I thought you might have noticed the new additions to your beloved family tapestry by now, Regulus.”

Regulus turned at once to the tapestry, still hanging across that vast expanse of wall. Apparently he’d been too caught up in the photographs to inspect it. Clementine watched as he marched over, immediately crouching to the section that held his portrait, his name, and his apparently incorrect year of death — had he charmed it to do that? His long fingers traced over the double golden lines that anchored their names together, before finding another shimmering thread leading downwards, linking them both to a portrait of a young girl with blonde hair bearing the label _Carina, b. 1980_.

He stayed there for some time with his hand outstretched to the enchanted fabric. Clementine wavered, not knowing what to do. Should she go over to him, tell him about their daughter, or just stay put? She bit her thumbnail and winced, hating herself. She tucked her hands into her pockets and winced again. She had finally settled on folding her arms when Regulus spoke at last.

“I have a daughter,” he said in a quiet voice, before slowly standing up and wrenching himself away from the tapestry, to look at her once more. “I didn’t — I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me you were with child?”

He looked hurt. Good.

“I didn’t know myself until months afterwards. I… it doesn’t matter. Would it have made any difference? Would you have stayed?”

“I… I don’t know. Clementine, I —”

“You were supposed to come back to me. You _promised_ you would come back to me.”

“It wasn’t safe —”

“You said you would come back to me and you didn’t. You sent Kreacher. Did you order him to tell me you had died? Did you order him to _lie_ to me, to your mother? Do you know the despair that he’s been in, these past twelve years?”

“I’m sorry, I —”

“Do you know the despair _we_ were in? You abandoned us! You mother died thinking you had been murdered! _I_ thought you had been murdered! You left us and I thought you were dead!”

“I was trying to keep you all from harm.”

“Well it didn’t work, Regulus. Do you think it was safe here, with hordes of Death Eaters trooping in and out of the house as they pleased? With the merry band of Death Eaters’ wives taking tea every day? With dear Bella breathing down my neck? With Lucius? With the _Dark Lord himself_ questioning me on your whereabouts?”

Regulus blanched and took a step back, hand feeling for the tapestry wall again.

“How long do you think it took for Rabastan to start circling once he thought you were gone? Do you think he bothered to wait until the mourning period had passed? Here’s a clue, Regulus: the lilies on your grave had not yet wilted the night Rabastan came to call. Do you think he cared that I was carrying your child? Do you think this so-called noble house, or this ring, protected me from _any_ of them?”

“Sirius said —”

“Yes, Sirius. Sirius and Remus are the ones who took care of me. Your disowned brother and his boyfriend protected your wife and daughter. Your _family_. I once thought family meant something to you, Regulus.”

“Clementine, I’m so sorry.”

He was walking towards her but she couldn’t. She just couldn’t. She edged away from him and held a hand to her mouth, choking back tears that she _refused_ to shed in front of him. Not after all that he’d done and all that he’d left her to suffer.

“Don’t. Please. I can’t do this right now.”

But Regulus seized her hand as she walked past him towards the doorway. Clementine flinched, startled by the jolt of _something_ that spread up her arm and towards her traitorous heart as their skin touched. She turned back to face him without really meaning to, her blue eyes glistening.

“Clementine… may I meet her? Please? May I meet our daughter? Our Carina?”

She hesitated, her bottom lip and her hands shaking. She had never heard him beg before. It didn’t suit him one bit.

“I don’t… she’s at school…”

“Hogwarts? First year?”

Clementine nodded. He took a step closer, took hold of her other hand. Her heart was beating wildly like a bludger thrashing to be released from its chains. This wasn’t fair, what he was doing _wasn’t fair_ , he knew the hold he had over her. Had always had over her. She swallowed and looked up to the ceiling, willing herself to stay strong, for her daughter if not for herself.

“Which house?”

“Ravenclaw.”

“Clever girl,” he said, and she could tell by the sound of his voice that he was smiling. He shouldn’t. Her sorting, her cleverness, it was nothing to do with him really, despite what Clementine had said earlier. He hadn’t raised her. He hadn’t taught her the alphabet or her colours or how to count. He hadn’t taken her to buy her first wand or stayed up with her past midnight reading her first school books. He hadn’t been to her piano recitals or read her poetry or _any_ of it. He hadn’t _been there_.

“May I write to her?”

“No,” she said, surprising herself with the sharpness of her tone. His thumbs were caressing her knuckles, tracing circles over the backs of her hands and it just wasn’t _fair_.

“No?”

“It’s not fair.”

“Not fair to her… or to you?”

“Stop that. Stop it, Regulus.”

“Stop what?”

“Legilimency. Get out of my head!”

He’d once promised that he would never invade her mind without her consent, but what was a promise to Regulus Arcturus Black. Too many Us. There were too many Us in his name, she’d pointed that out to him when they were eleven. She never should have trusted a man with so many Us in his name.

“I’m not using legilimency, Clementine. You’ve always been an open book to me.”

“Then I suppose I’ll have to start wearing a mask. I think there’s still one of yours hidden away in a cupboard upstairs.”

That was harsh, but he deserved it. She wrenched her hands from his grasp and turned to leave. He called her name as she reached the doorway, loud and clear and… _commanding_. He’d never used that tone with her before. She turned back towards him. Obedient as ever. Stupid girl.

“Clementine,” he repeated, softer this time. “Darling, I just want the chance to know my daughter.”

“How can I let you into her life knowing you might leave us again at any moment?”

“I won’t, I promise you.”

“Your promises mean nothing to me any more,” she said bitterly.

“Clementine, I know what I did was unforgivable… but I won’t make the same mistake again.”

“She thinks you’re a hero,” Clementine whispered. “I told her you were a hero.”

“I… that was very generous of you. It didn’t feel very heroic at the time.”

“No, I don’t suppose it would have.”

“I was an idiot. You have always been the most… Sirius called you extraordinary, earlier. You are beyond extraordinary Clementine. I will regret what I did for the rest of my life and I don’t deserve that you’re even standing in the same room as me right now but please know that I have loved you every day that we have been apart. I will love you every day that is still to come.”

Clementine closed her eyes and took a deep inhale of breath. This was too much. He was too much. This was all too, too much. “Alright,” she said softly. “Alright. I will… I will think on it.”

“Thank you.”

She nodded and slipped through the door, leaving Regulus in the drawing room surrounded by pictures of the daughter he had never known had even existed. Sirius was waiting outside, pacing backwards and forwards across the landing like the overgrown guard dog he was.

“Is everything alright? I heard shouting,” he said, pouncing on her as soon as she closed the door.

“Everything is fine,” she sighed, and started walking further up the stairs.

“What happened? Where are you going?”

“I need to lie down.”

“You shouldn’t be alone, I’ll come with you. Padfoot will keep you company.”

“No, Sirius,” she paused, turning on the stairs to face him. Sirius nearly barrelled into her but she stopped him with a hand on his chest and realised that his heart was beating almost as fast as hers was. “You ought to talk with your brother. You both have a lot to catch up on.”

“I’d rather not,” he replied, screwing up his nose in a very childlike manner.

“Just be nice,” she warned, then added in a whisper, “but not _too_ nice.”

He winked at her, then jogged back down the stairs.

 

* * *

 

 

Regulus fiddled with the cuffs of his shirt sleeves and sighed. His first evening back in London had not even passed and he felt like he’d lived through an entire lifetime. He’d hoped for a reunion with Kreacher at best, or a meeting with his mother at worst… but not this. Never this. Encountering his brother _and_ his wife, at the same time? In the same house? And discovering that he had a _daughter_? Maybe he should have paid more attention in Divination. Maybe he should have paid more attention whenever Clementine attempted to read his tea leaves or interpret his dreams. He should have just risked taking a room at the Leaky Cauldron. Azkaban was beginning to look almost appealing in comparison to this mess.

He walked over to the mantlepiece once more. Carina, his daughter, was in almost every photograph displayed there. Was she interested in Divination, like her mother? Did she have her mother’s aptitude for Charm work? Did she have her grace and ease in social situations? Or was she more like him… more comfortable alone, with a book? Did she draw? Did she worry about what people thought of her? Being Clementine’s daughter must bring her attention. And she was the next generation of the House of Black, now. That brought with it its own set of problems. Was Slughorn still teaching? Another Black had slipped through his fingers to be sorted into a different house… he’d be sorely disappointed.

She looked happy, in the photographs. She was laughing and waving in almost every one. There she was holding Clementine’s hand and eating an ice cream. In another she was sitting high up in the branches of a tree with the boy… Harry? Had Clementine said whose child he was? Regulus frowned, and moved along to the large cabinet in the corner of the room.

This cabinet had once held all manner of dark artefacts: a pensieve that trapped anyone who tried to use it, a tiny vial of unlabelled poison turned thick and gloopy with age, a cursed book of fairytales, a lock of dark hair that Sirius had always said belonged to their dead sister (Regulus still wasn’t entirely sure whether that was a lie or not), a biting skull, the enchanted music box that had given him the idea for Clementine’s, and, of course, his father’s gilded copy of _Nature’s Nobility_. He did hope that last one at least hadn’t been tossed into a bin.

Regulus carefully opened the glass door of the cabinet and picked up a small shining trophy that held pride of place in the centre of the top shelf. He peered at the engraving on its wooden base: _Fastest Snitch Retrieval, Junior Quidditch Championships 1990: Harry James Potter_. The trophy clattered back down onto the glass shelf as Regulus dropped it in haste. James Potter. _James Potter_. The quaffle-headed idiot who had stolen his brother from him had had a son, who for some inexplicable reason was living in _his house_ with his trophies filling up the _family cabinets_.

The drawing room door opened again and Regulus wheeled around.

“Why is Potter’s son living in my house?” he demanded of his brother.

The lop-sided grin Sirius had been wearing when he’d entered the room vanished. He clenched his fists at his side and breathed deeply through his nose, looking remarkably like an erumpent on the warpath. He half-expected his brother to have already hexed him out the window but, miraculously, Sirius appeared to have learned some restraint in his old age.

“ _Harry_ ,” he spat. “Is my _godson_.”

“And why is _your_ godson living in _my_ house?”

It was stupid to provoke him, Regulus knew that, but he just couldn’t help himself. The past few hours had been trying beyond belief and something about Sirius’s ridiculous face, looking so casual in the house that he had always hated and that Regulus had always struggled to live up to, with his photographs strewn up all over the place standing next to Regulus’s wife with his arms around _Regulus’s wife_ … it made him want to… to blast a hole in a wall. Or something else utterly ridiculous.

“Because Clem wanted us here! Trust me, I’d have been much happier at Moony’s but Clem wanted us _here_. So here we are. I’ve told you this already, you moron!”

“But why is _he_ here? Why is Potter’s brat sharing a roof with my daughter? Have his parents grown tired of him?”

“Have his… what the FUCK, Reggie?!”

Sirius stormed out of the room and tried to slam the door, but Regulus was quicker — those Seeker reflexes never went away — and stopped it. His brother was stomping down the stairs in those oversized boots he had always insisted on wearing as if he were compensating for something, and Regulus yelled after him, “Is Potter too much of an IDIOT to raise his own child now?”

There was no response from his brother but an angry, flustered _yelp_ as he disappeared further downstairs, but a rustling noise from across the hall drew Regulus’s attention. Lupin was standing there, in the doorway of the library — _his_ library, there was a bloody werewolf in _his library_ for fuck’s sake his parents would be spinning in their graves — and bloody staring at him.

“ _What_?” Regulus spat.

“James and Lily died in 1981. Voldemort murdered them, but Harry survived,” Remus replied calmly, before following in Sirius’s wake down the stairs.

 _Fuck_. He was an idiot.

Those rumours… Regulus hadn’t believed them, they had been _rumours_ after all, and they’d sounded so fantastical, so impossible. But he ought to have known that fantastical, impossible things happened all the time where the Dark Lord was concerned. Apparently the Potters _had_ died that night, and apparently their child _had_ survived. But how could that be? How could a _baby_ , the son of James 'bludgers-for-brains' Potter and a bloody mud— _muggle-born_ witch have defeated the Dark Lord? No, not defeated, not entirely, because _those_ rumours… they were definitely, horrifically true. But still… he should like to meet this Harry Potter.

Regulus walked into the now-vacated library and closed the door behind him, locking it and casting a silencing spell to muffle his brother’s ranting and raving that was echoing up the stairs. This room, at least, appeared unchanged. He hoped the _Daily Prophet_ archives had been kept up-to-date because he had an awful lot of catching up to do.


	4. mellilla

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another pause, and then in a voice so quiet it might have been carried away in a breeze, “What if I can’t forgive you?”

Clementine hadn’t intended on going there but before she could realise what she was doing her feet were carrying her up and up the stairs to the topmost landing and into Regulus’s childhood bedroom. In the months (and years) following his disappearance she had taken to sleeping here almost every night, longing for any semblance of closeness to him she could find.

The room had remained largely unchanged since he had called it his own: the wallpaper still shimmered with subtle silver markings, the curtains and drapery still hung with heavy green velvet, and the family crest was still displayed prominently above the bed. Regulus’s beautiful mahogany writing desk lay unmoved beneath the tall window, almost covered with neat stacks of schoolbooks, notebooks, sketchbooks and loose sheafs of parchment. The few differences were the scattered photographs, Clementine’s gauzy house-robe hanging alongside Regulus’s in the wardrobe, and a few discarded pieces of jewellery she had left on the bedside table, beside the music box he had given her for her sixteenth birthday.

She lay down on the vast, empty bed and curled herself around a plump embroidered pillow. His scent had long since vanished but that wasn’t the comfort she was seeking right now — if she’d wanted that, the real thing was waiting for her downstairs. What she sought was the safety and sense of purpose she’d once felt in this room more than anywhere else, when he was here and she was young and it had felt like the two of them against the world.

Tears came again, unbidden. Her mind raced with conflicting emotions waging a war inside her head. She had never stopped loving Regulus, not even after all the years that had passed and all the misguided attempts her daughter and her brother-in-law had made at getting her to move on. But a new emotion was now bubbling up beside that unfathomable love that was making her feel quite uncomfortable.

It might have been envy (he’d been safe hidden someplace far away while she’d suffered through the end of the war alone), or perhaps pity (he’d missed the last years of his mother’s life, and the first years of his daughter’s life), and certainly betrayal (he’d abandoned her, he’d lied to her, he’d discarded her like she’d meant nothing to him), but mostly anger. Anger that she’d spent her entire youth worshipping him, placing him on this pedestal of goodness and chivalry and honesty and virtue and he’d just thrown it all in her fucking face.

Why had he even returned? It wasn’t for her, she was sure of that. If he had finally come to some sort of realisation that he couldn’t live without her then he would have sent a letter first, or he would have gone to seek her at their cottage or at her parents’ house. He wouldn’t have come here; he couldn’t have imagined that she would be living here. And he had looked so shocked and surprised when he had seen her — almost as surprised as she had been to see him. No, he wasn’t expecting her. He had come back for something else. But what, she couldn’t guess.

She should have listened to the girls, that night in the dormitory. They’d told her their fears: that Rabastan was following in his brother’s footsteps (had he already taken the Mark at that point?) and that Regulus wasn’t far behind (had _he_?). They’d warned her about the other Slytherin boys, about the other traditional pureblood families she’d found herself tangled up in, but she hadn’t listened. She’d been so convinced that Regulus — and even, to a certain extent, Rabastan, and look where _that_ had gotten her — was different, that deep down, where it mattered, he was more like Sirius than the rest of his family. She’d been so sure about _Narcissa_ too. About all of them. She’d been so naive and it had nearly cost her anything.

Clementine eventually fell into an uneasy sleep in the early hours of the morning, still clinging to the pillow and still wearing her day clothes. She dreamed of shadowy figures and flickering memories of her schooldays, a little furrow forming on her brow. Of stolen moments by the Lake, switching Prefect patrols, impromptu palmistry readings and taking any excuse to be close to him. Of arguing classmates and worried parents and the pain and hurt in his eyes. Of nights spent sneaking into the restricted section, trying to find out what the Dark Lord’s plans were when they should have been concentrating on their NEWTs and their wedding. Of that beautiful day, marred only by the blight on his arm. Of reassuring him that it would all be okay, but not even managing to convince herself. Of his gravestone, bright white marble shining out from a gloomy rain soaked graveyard. And an empty coffin being lowered into the earth.

* * *

Regulus settled himself into a comfortable chair in his family’s old library, his suitcase at his feet. There was a tall stack of decades-old issues of the _Daily Prophet_ to one side, a large glass of whisky to the other, and his latest research spread out in front of him. He was preparing himself for a long night ahead, sifting through the old newspapers for anything that might be related to the Dark Lord and his followers.

Disturbingly, he began with his death notice.

 

_BLACK, Regulus Arcturus_

_Cruelly taken from us this September 1979, aged just 18 years old. Leaves behind his devoted mother Walburga, and his loving wife Clementine. A dear son-in-law, nephew, cousin, and friend to many. Service to be held at Highgate Cemetery on October 10_ _ th _ _, 2.30pm._

 

He couldn’t deny the spark of curiosity that was pushing against his mind and found himself flicking through the papers to see if there had been an article about his funeral. There had been, of course. As if the _Prophet_ could have resisted reporting on such an event, attended by some of the most well-known witches and wizards of the time.

Regulus nearly died all over again when he turned to an arresting photograph of Clementine that filled most of the page. _The Enchanting Young Window_ , they’d called her. She was dressed all in black colours, with a small veil obscuring the upper part of her face. He could still see her eyes, though, staring straight into the camera as though she were looking directly at him. The photograph could have passed as a muggle one, she was standing so still, but it was the other person in the image that made his blood run cold: _Rabastan_. He was leaning in close to her, holding an umbrella over their heads and whispering something in her ear, apparently caring not one jot for the impression he was giving. Not that he had ever cared what people thought of him.

There was a photograph of his mother, too, wearing a ridiculously over-the-top veil that fell right to the floor. Cissy and Bella were there with their husbands, too: Cissy was openly weeping while Bella merely looked bored. There was a smaller photograph of the crowd, and Regulus thought he could make out most of his extended family as well as Evan, Barty, and Finn.

He turned the page and was surprised to see Clementine’s looping handwriting right there in newsprint. The caption stated that the letter had been found at his graveside, and printed with permission from its author. As he read, he found his eyes welling up with tears.

 

_Dearest Lionheart,_

_The Fates were cruel to wrench us apart just as we embarked upon the first steps of our life together. Know that you have always held my heart and soul, and that they will continue to be yours alone until I, too, expire and join you on that great journey beyond this mortal earth._

_There can be no man as brave, as noble, as true as you, my Galahad. You have shown strength and wisdom beyond comprehension, and if I didn’t know that you would be horrified at the mere thought of it, I would raise monuments in your name and compose paean after paean so the whole world might learn of your greatness._

_But I will tell our child, darling. Our child will grow up knowing that their father was a hero and that he died for a cause greater than they will ever comprehend. Our child will know that you left this world a better place than you found it. I am so proud of you._

_Goodnight, sweet prince; and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest._

_Ever your Clementine._

 

Regulus stared, stunned, at the page. He read the letter again. Then another time, and another. Over and over until the words were seared into his brain and he could read them with his eyes closed. The honesty and pure, beautiful love in her words felt like a sword to the guts: she thought he had died a martyr when in truth he had fled, a coward. How could he ever hope for her forgiveness?

He quietly muttered a spell to make a copy of her letter and tucked it away into an inner pocket of his suitcase before he folded that issue of the _Prophet_ and sent it flying back to its place in the archives. And turned his attention back to the true task at hand.

1979 appeared to end in much the same way as it had started: indiscriminate killings, mysterious disappearances, attacks on businesses owned by known muggle-sympathisers and blood-traitors.

But it was in 1980 that things appeared to have _really_ started kicking off. Regulus noted that Minister Minchum — a so-called hardliner who didn’t appear to have done much to stop the Dark Lord beside place yet _more_ dementors around Azkaban, something even a muggle-born could have guessed was an idiotic move — was ousted from his post and replaced by Millicent Bagnold. Curious. Wasn’t Clementine friends with a Bagnold at school?

Her ascent to the top position at the Ministry appeared to have sparked a turning point in the war: Regulus came across Alastor Moody’s name over and over again, a powerhouse in the Auror division who seemed to have taken down Death Eaters and the Dark Lord’s sympathisers left right and centre. He captured Karkaroff — no great loss, Regulus had always found the foreign wizard slightly disturbing — and the man was given a reduced sentence in exchange for _names_. Coward.

Regulus was disturbed from his slowly-decreasing pile of newspapers by a knock at the door. He turned as the werewolf entered.

“Ah, Regulus. Keeping busy?” he said lightly.

Regulus arched an eyebrow and gestured to his notes. _Obviously_.

“I just wanted to let you know that Sirius and I are going to my parents’ old place in the morning. We’ll stay for the weekend but I’m afraid we’ll have to return for work on Monday.”

“Right.”

_Work?_

There was an awkward pause while Remus appeared to be debating with himself over whether or not he should say something. He spoke. “She is still very much in love with you, you know. Throughout everything, she kept you in her heart. Be careful, Regulus; I wouldn’t like to see her hurt again.”

There was a dangerous tone to his voice, one that Regulus did not care for.

“I assure you, Clementine will not be the one getting hurt.”

“Good. Well,” Lupin said more cheerfully, slapping his hand against the wooden doorframe in a way that made Regulus want to punch something, preferably the werewolf. “Good night then, Regulus.”

Regulus gave him a cursory nod and returned to his stack of newspapers.

Towards the end of 1980, Evan had died. Had been _killed_. The article didn’t state who committed the deed, but it did describe a fierce battle between Evan and Wilkes, and a team of Aurors led by Moody. Evan had taken a chunk out of Moody’s nose; he appeared to have put up quite the fight, but died anyway. What a waste of life. What the hell were they thinking? Felix must have been distraught. How old would be be now? Early 20s? He would have been a child still when his brother had been murdered; too young to understand why Evan had been fighting. How could they have been so stupid? How could they have not seen this coming? The Dark Lord didn’t care about blood, he didn’t care that the oldest pureblood families were dying out at his behest, all he cared about was power. Selfish, greedy power. He didn’t care that the crown that he sought would be soaked in the blood of his betters. Bastard.

It wasn’t until the early hours of the morning, when the inky black sky turned back to blue and his eyes grew tired from the flickering candlelight that Regulus finally set aside the stack of newspapers. He leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms up high to the ceiling, relishing in the privacy of being able to yawn widely and loudly.

He considered going to bed, but he had always had trouble sleeping when his mind was set on something. And when his brain was working as fast as it was right now, he knew sleep would be but a distant memory. His thoughts drifted up to his old bedroom, to the piles of horcrux research he had travelled all this way to retrieve, and his feet soon followed.

Regulus hoped that his and Clementine’s notes would be where he had left them, in his desk. He couldn’t imagine that his mother would have been into his bedroom after he had disappeared — she had never been into Sirius’s, as far as he was aware — and he thought that Clementine, as the new mistress of the house (how odd that seemed), would have had the foresight to prevent his brother and the werewolf from poking around in there too.

He wasn’t too surprised to see the old warning sign still hanging from his bedroom door — embarrassingly infantile as it might seem to him now — but he _was_ surprised, when he opened it, to see a figure sleeping _in his bed_.

There was a single candle still burning on the bedside and this, along with the dim light from the opened door, cast her in a heavenly yellow glow. The light shone from her hair, spread out across the pillows (his pillows), and made it appear like spun gold. She was frowning, her pink lips parted slightly and it was all he could do to stop himself from dashing over there and pressing his own lips to hers, as if she were Aurora and he the prince that might wake her from her nightmarish slumber with true love’s kiss.

But he wasn’t the prince, he was the fool. And like a fool he stood there, enchanted by this _vision_ , whether for a minute or an hour he couldn’t say. But eventually he steeled himself to move and stepped into the bedroom, his feet moving soundlessly across the carpets and towards his old writing-desk that lay beneath the window, as it always had.

As he passed the bed he caught a glimpse of her perfume that lingered in the air. Violets and citrus and something utterly irresistible, he found himself kneeling at her side before he had time to think better of it. He reached out tentatively to touch those golden waves of hair, heart in his mouth, but she didn’t stir. Bolder now, he caressed her hair and let his thumb gently stroke down the side of her face. That frown on her brow smoothed out at his touch and he might have imagined that she turned her face into his hand, a little sigh escaping from her lips.

Regulus was reminded of the first time he had seen her sleep, that night he had escorted her home and carried her to her bed, on her house-elf’s instructions. She looked much the same; a little older and a little thinner, perhaps, having lost that plumpness of youth, but he found her as breathtaking as he ever had. He was reminded, too, of the promise that he had made her sleeping form that night, and of how he had broken it. Never again.

He pulled himself away before he got too lost in her and turned back towards his desk. There were stacks of books and old journals lying on it that he couldn’t remember putting there and he worried for a moment that mother or someone even worse had gone rifling through his things before he remembered that anything to do with the horcruxes had been disguised, and anything that he might have once found embarrassing was far less so once he learned that Clementine had reciprocated his feelings towards her.

The topmost journal was one of his old sketchbooks, from fifth or sixth year by the looks of it. Its pages were mostly filled with images of Clementine, with the occasional self-portrait or sketch of Barty or Evan or Finn, and even one of the Bloody Baron. They all looked so young, so full of hope and that certain confidence, bordering on arrogance, that came with youth. _Most_ youth; he had very rarely experienced that gleeful feeling for himself. Evan looked about ready to take on the world. As he flicked through the pages, he noted how he had managed to document his blossoming relationship with Clementine. Towards the beginning, the sketches were all of the back of her head or her profile, or focused on her hands or her legs or her hair, rough drawings marked out quickly before she noticed he was watching her. But gradually the pages began to be filled with her face and her multitude of expressions and most of all her _laughter_.

Regulus closed the sketchbook before he grew too morose and picked up the nondescript, battered old notebook that held all their painstakingly-collected research on horcruxes. It was still here, and still complete.

But as he rose to leave, he couldn’t resist going back to her one more time. He knelt beside her again and was considering whether he could get away with kissing her cheek when her eyes fluttered open. She stared at him for a moment or two and by the flickering candlelight he saw her pupils dilate and her eyes widen, and his heart was in his mouth because he’d been caught.

“Reggie?” she whispered in a voice that could heal wounds.

He nodded and tried to ignore the incessant throbbing of his heart.

“Am I still dreaming?”

“No,” he breathed. “This is real.”

She lifted a shaking hand and held her palm to the side of his face; he closed his eyes and held his breath because it felt too good to be true to be touched voluntarily for the first time in so long. The warmth from her hand seemed to spread through him like an enchantment diffusing through his veins and he held onto it like a life raft, his hand pressing against hers.

“You came back.”

“I came back.”

A pause, and he could hear her soft breaths. Could feel their warmth, he was so close.

“But not for me.”

His eyes snapped open and his heart beat quicker, if that was at all possible. It was true, but not because he didn’t _want_ her — he did, more than almost anything, more than anything except the Dark Lord’s destruction — it was true because he hadn’t dared to _hope_ that he might find her, and that she might be willing to even look upon him. Yet here she was.

“No, I didn’t,” he admitted. “But you are the reason I will stay.”

Another pause, and then in a voice so quiet it might have been carried away in a breeze, “What if I can’t forgive you?”

He bowed his head. If anyone could grant him forgiveness it was her, this sweet, gentle, generous girl with her heart so vast he didn’t know how she managed to keep it inside her. She was Clementine, _clementia_ , clemency. He didn’t deserve her, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d wished upon a star.

“I hope I might earn your forgiveness, in time, though I know it will be difficult,” he whispered, taking her hand from his face and kissing the inside of her wrist. His thumb rubbed over the ring she still wore, his great-grandmother’s ring; this, along with the letter he’d discovered, were the sole things that gave him hope that he might still have a chance. And then he rose, collected his notebook, and left once more.

“Reggie?”

He turned and looked back at her, that angel lying in his childhood bed.

“My heart never stopped hoping.”

“Nor will mine, _mellilla_.”

 

 

 


	5. cassiopeia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well,” she said, clearly attempting to stop her voice from trembling. “Well. That is… that is quite unfathomable.”
> 
> “But fathom it we must."

Clementine had woken late, feeling stiff and uncomfortable from crying herself to sleep in yesterday’s clothes and a little embarrassed about a vague half-memory of Regulus visiting her in the night — or had it just been a dream? Regardless, she had little time to dwell because old Aunt Cass was a stickler for time-keeping and she was erring on the side of lateness as it was.

The house was blissfully empty and quiet and Clementine managed to bathe and dress and soothe her puffy red eyes without any interruptions from well-meaning but overly-curious housemates. Or her wayward husband. She left a brief note stuck to the hallway mirror to let the sleeping men know that she would be back later that evening and apparated from her front doorstep to Cassiopeia’s house in the leafy outskirts of London.

She caught a glimpse of a curtain twitching in one of the downstairs windows and knew the old woman would be sat staring at the clock and muttering about the tardiness of youth.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” Cassiopeia said sharply as Clementine let herself into the drawing room.

“I do apologise, Auntie. I failed to set an alarm last night,” she replied, bending down to greet her with a kiss to each powdery cheek. She was only three minutes late, but it was best not to rankle Cassiopeia Black when you were already in her bad books.

“This is precisely why I warned you about getting rid of that house-elf.”

“Yes. Perhaps I should call Kreacher back from Hogwarts.”

Clementine had been pondering that all morning. She simply _had_ to reunite Kreacher and Regulus, there was no way she could find it in her heart to keep the poor old thing away from his beloved Master, but how to do it without arousing suspicion from the headmaster? He had been one of the (many) reasons she was keen on waiting until the Easter holidays before telling Carina about Regulus — she would no doubt want to tell all her friends, and it wouldn’t be long until Albus found out the truth too. And she wasn’t sure if she was quite ready for all that would entail.

Cassiopeia narrowed her eyes and then slowly heaved herself up from her armchair, waving away Clementine’s offer of help. She seemed to have aged tremendously in the past few years or so. Her hips were playing up, and her skin was paper-thin and bruised at the slightest touch. She tired easily and had developed a terrible cough in the evenings but refused to go and get checked out at St Mungo’s.

“Let us take a walk around the stables, Clementine. Bletchley has acquired me a wonderful new Granian and you can help me name him. You’ve always been good at that sort of thing.”

Clementine wasn’t entirely sure where she had gotten that impression from — the only thing she’d ever had to give a name to was her baby, and while Carina was quite an excellent name, she didn’t think one could build a reputation on a single instance — but offered Cassiopeia her arm obligingly and the pair slowly walked out of the house and into the substantial grounds.

“How long have you kept horses, Auntie?”

“Only my entire life. My uncle Herbert bred them, you see, and since he died without an heir and my idiot brothers weren’t interested, I took the stables on. I’ve always found horses preferable to men.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“You must be half-mad, girl, sharing that house with those two buffoons.”

“Sirius and Remus aren’t so bad,” she chuckled. “Though I expect they make rather the same amount of mess as two winged horses.”

“That’s Gryffindors for you. Well here we are,” Cassiopeia announced as they approached the end stall. A large white horse whickered at them, his head sticking out from the open top half of the stable door. Clementine walked up to him slowly, taking care not to spook him. He was a bright shining white all over, tall with enormous wings that fluttered as she raised a hand to gently rub his forehead.

“Aren’t you a handsome boy?” she said softly.

“I had the fancy to call him Albus.”

“Auntie, you can’t call him that!” Clementine laughed. “What about Phaethon? One of Eos’s steeds who pulled her chariot across the sky. It means Light-Bringer.”

“Latin? Sounds like something your Regulus would have come up with,” said Cassiopeia, and Clementine looked uncomfortably back to the horse. “He liked the horses too, you know. He seemed so scared of so many things, but he was never scared of being up in the air.”

“It’s Greek, actually,” Clementine corrected. “Aurora is the Roman equivalent of Eos, but I’m not sure what her horses were called.”

Perhaps she would ask Regulus when she got home.

Cassiopeia talked at length about her new horse, about how the dastardly Bletchley had tried conning her out of more Galleons than he was worth — “he thinks I’m just a silly old bat but I’ve still got my wits about me!” — about his special diet and the race-training schedule she was going to put him on. Clementine mostly tuned her out as she entered the horse’s stall and started brushing down his mane.

It was quite a calming and therapeutic task that she’d always enjoyed, especially with a horse as seemingly calm as this one. She let her mind wander back to Grimmauld Place, and wondered whether the boys were up yet. She hoped that Sirius and Regulus wouldn’t goad each other too much, and that Remus would be able to keep the peace until she returned. She wondered where Regulus had slept, _if_ he had slept, how to broach the subject of where he might sleep tonight. She wondered if he was thinking of her as much as she was thinking of him.

“Are you going to tell me what’s on your mind, girl, or are you going to keep brushing that same patch of poor Phaethon’s mane all day?”

Clementine, startled out of her daydreaming, turned around in surprise. Cassiopeia was leaning forwards on her cane and fixing her with one of those hard stares the Blacks did so well. There would be no wheedling her way out of this one.

“I… _we_ had an unexpected visitor last night. I was just… thinking about them.”

“A male visitor?”

“Yes…”

“My great-nephew?”

Clementine dropped the grooming brush in alarm that the older woman had guessed the impossible. It landed on the stone floor with a clatter, causing Phaethon to snort and swish his tail. _How_ had she known it was Regulus who was consuming her thoughts?

“Did you know?” she demanded. “Did you know he was still alive?”

“No, child. I have neither seen nor spoken to Regulus since before he left us.”

“Then how did you…?” she asked, utterly baffled.

“Clementine, I have known you for many years now. And no one — no _man_ — but my great-nephew, for all his sins, could ever have such an effect on you. You have not heard a single word I’ve been saying since I mentioned his name. You didn’t even flinch when I suggested that Carina start taking flying lessons and I know you think she’s not old enough.”

“She’s not,” Clementine muttered, bending down to retrieve the brush. She hated that Cassiopeia had been able to guess so quickly what was on her mind; hadn’t Regulus been able to do the same thing just last night? Perhaps she ought to try harder at masking her emotions.

“And Regulus returned last night?”

“Yes. Remus and I were at the theatre and when we returned Sirius looked rather peaky and there he was.”

“Where had he been?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Odd that she hadn’t thought to ask that yet.

“Why is he back?”

“I don’t know that, either.”

Doubly odd. Somehow, asking the specifics of his absence and his return hadn’t been at the forefront of her mind when she had found herself stood directly in front of him for the first time in over a decade.

“Then what are you doing messing about over here! I should think the two of you have a lot of catching up to do. Twelve years, is that correct?”

“Almost thirteen.”

“Ah, yes. Does he know about Carina?”

“Yes.”

“Will you introduce them?”

“I… I’m thinking on it. I have to protect her, Auntie. What if he leaves again?”

“Do you think it likely?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think I know him at all.”

Clementine vanished the brush and closed Phaethon into his stall again, and leaned her back against the door. He stuck his big soft head outside again and snickered against her ear. Clementine raised a hand to his muzzle and stroked him, sighing.

“The Black men might be stubborn and foolish but they are not known for being so stupid as to repeat their mistakes,” Cassiopeia said firmly. “I doubt very much that Regulus would disappear a second time. Especially once he learns what a strong young woman you have grown into in his absence.”

Clementine raised her eyes to Cassiopeia, who was staring at her intently. That was partly her worry — that Regulus would see the life she had built for herself without him, and think that there wasn’t a place _for_ him in that life. In her life.

“What if he thinks I don’t need him any more?”

“You don’t, Clementine. You don’t need _any_ man. The question is, do you want him?”

“More than anything,” she breathed, without hesitation.

“Then give him a second chance. Don’t let a mistake he made when he was a terrified eighteen year old ruin both your lives.”

That was easy enough for someone else to say, but it was _her_ safety and happiness — her _child’s_ safety and happiness — that was on the line here. “It wasn’t just a mistake he made when he was eighteen. He was gone for over a decade. He’s a thirty year old man now.”

“And he’s _here_. That’s what’s important, child.”

Clementine sighed. Perhaps Cassiopeia was right, perhaps she should just forgive him and take him back. But it didn’t seem fair that he should be able to disappear and reappear whenever he felt like it. It _wasn’t_ fair. And what if he didn’t even want her to take him back in the first place? Gods, this was confusing.

“I’m not suggesting that you make this easy for him — quite the opposite, in fact. He ought to work damn hard to earn your forgiveness. Let him shower you with expensive gifts and fancy dinners.”

“It’d be _my_ money he’d be wasting on those things,” Clementine huffed. His vaults were all in her name now after all, aside from the trust she’d set aside for Carina. Yet another thing she’d have to sort out. And she did so hate dealing with the goblins of Gringott’s.

“Then let him earn your forgiveness in… other ways.”

Clementine looked up, shocked at the suggestive tone in the old woman’s voice. “Cass, you saucy old thing.”

“Well, you must resemble a shrivelfig after all these years. Salazar knows why you wouldn’t let one of those nice young gentlemen entertain you for an evening or two.”

“Auntie, _really_ ,” Clementine scolded, blushing furiously. “I am _not_ having this conversation with you.”

“Alright, alright,” said Cassiopeia, waving her hand in Clementine’s general direction. “Be off with you then. Oh, and send Regulus over for luncheon would you? I’ll get the elf to bake a cake. It’s not every day your great-nephew returns from the dead now is it?”

“Of course, Auntie,” she smiled, wishing she could be a billywig on the wall for _that_ conversation. “Before I go, would you mind awfully doing me a favour?”

“That depends on the favour,” Cassiopeia said carefully, narrowing her eyes.

Clementine smiled, and called out, “Kreacher!”

                                                                                                    

* * *

 

 

“Knock, knock,” Clementine said, stupidly, as she knocked on the wooden doorframe of the library at Grimmauld Place. Regulus looked up at the sound of her voice and rose immediately, his chair scraping on the floorboards behind him.

“Clementine! You’re back early,” he exclaimed. “I… how are you?”

“Well, thank you. And you?” she answered automatically. Gods, this was awkward.

“Very well. I… I apologise for disturbing you last night.”

“Oh! That’s quite alright. It’s my fault, really, I didn’t intend to fall asleep in — in your bedroom.”

So it hadn’t been a dream after all. Clementine wasn’t sure if she’d rather it had been because she couldn’t really remember what had happened or what, if anything, she had said to him. How embarrassing.

“You have hay in your hair,” he said, walking towards her to pull a strand out from her golden locks.

“How silly,” she said and patted at her hair. “I was helping your Aunt Cass with the horses, she has a rather handsome new Granian.”

“One of Bletchley’s?”

“Yes. She thinks he’ll make a good racer.”

“I didn’t realise she was still alive. How is she?”

“A little slower than you might remember. She has asked that you take luncheon with her today.”

“You told her I was in London?” he frowned.

“No, not intentionally,” she sighed. Did he not _want_ people to know he had returned? “She guessed.”

They stared at each other for a moment or two. Clementine considered fainting just to ease some of the awkwardness. Why was it awkward? It had _never_ been like this before.

“I suppose I’d better be off, then,” he said eventually, but made no effort to move.

“Yes. I… have some errands to run, but I shall be back this evening.”

“Very well. I will see you later.”

There was another awkward pause. Should she embrace him? Kiss his cheek? _Shake his hand_? Thankfully he made to leave before she could do something even more embarrassing like _wave_ at him.

“Regulus?” she asked, suddenly.

“Yes?”

“Where are Remus and Sirius?”

Clementine realised that she hadn’t seen them all day, and it was most unusual for Remus not to hound her for slices of Cassiopeia’s rather excellent chocolate cake on her return.

“Oh… they’ve gone elsewhere for the weekend.”

“Oh. Alright. So… it’s just us, then? In the house?”

“Yes. Is that alright?”

“Yes! Of course!” _oh Merlin oh Helga oh Godric bloody Gryffindor no it was most certainly not alright_ “I’ll see you later, then.”

“Goodbye, Clementine.”

                                                                                                    

* * *

 

 

Regulus felt oddly nervous as he walked up the garden path to Aunt Cassiopeia’s house. It would be the first time he’d spoken to a member of his family (he still wasn’t counting Sirius) as an adult — before his ‘death’, even after he’d come of age, they had rarely treated him as one. He supposed it came with being the youngest cousin, the baby of the family. And yet they'd had no qualms about sending the youngest to fight in a war.

He took a deep breath on the doorstep, straightened his collar and smoothed down his trousers, then knocked smartly on the door. He barely had chance to retract his hand when the heavy wooden door swung open and he looked down at the gnarled old house-elf and —

“Master!” the house-elf cried, “Master Regulus! Master Regulus has returned at last!”

“Kreacher?” Regulus gasped, immediately bending to his knees and pulling the old house-elf into an embrace. Kreacher’s narrow bony shoulders were shaking as he sobbed into his master’s robes; Regulus did his best to calm him down, rubbing his back and hushing him in soothing tones, but he was feeling rather unexpectedly emotional himself.

“Kreacher was so worried for Master Regulus! Kreacher didn’t want to leave Master all alone in that horrid little house, dirty little house, but Master ordered it! And the Mistresses were very upset, the old Mistress was shouting and the young Mistress was crying, all the time crying for Master Regulus!”

“I’m so sorry, old friend.”

“Master Regulus mustn’t apologise to Kreacher! Kreacher deserves his suffering for not obeying Master’s orders in that… that place…”

“I am very glad you didn’t, Kreacher, truly.”

“Master Regulus has survived without Kreacher? Master Regulus has been eating properly and washing his clothes?”

Regulus couldn’t help but laugh as the house-elf patted him all over, as if he were expecting to find him all skin and bones with patches in his robes. “Yes, Kreacher, I just about managed to survive.”

“What is all this commotion?”

He looked up at the sharp yet familiar voice, and found his great-aunt standing in the hallway, leaning heavily on an ornate wooden cane and looking like she’d aged a lifetime.

“Aunt Cass,” he said quietly, standing up and moving forwards to greet her. Kreacher clung on to his leg, making this quite difficult.

“Get inside Regulus, stop making such a fuss over that house-elf. The neighbours will be writing to the _Prophet_ if you carry on like this.”

“I thought your nearest neighbours were two miles away?” he said wryly, and closed the front door behind him.

Cassiopeia waved her hand at him and shuffled into the drawing room. “Kreacher! Make yourself useful and get us some tea.”

“Go on, old friend,” Regulus said softly, squeezing Kreacher’s shoulder. The house-elf looked up at him with wide watery eyes before disappearing into the kitchen. Regulus followed his aunt and was surprised to find himself folded into a tight hug as soon as he’d passed through the doorway.

“I am very glad that you’ve come back to us, Regulus,” she said, her voice wavering slightly with an emotion he’d never thought her capable of. He swallowed, his throat feeling rather tight.

“Thank you, Aunt,” he said quietly. “I’m glad to be back.”

“Now, let’s get a look at you,” she said, more brusquely, a pair of pince-nez balanced on the end of her nose that she had apparently conjured from somewhere. “Still no taller, I see —”

“I’m thirty years old, aunt, I’m hardly likely to grow any taller _now_.”

“Yes, well, you’ve filled out some,” she continued, patting his chest and arms in much the same way as Kreacher had just moments before. “Very good, such a handsome face. You take after your grandfather Pollux, lucky for Clementine. He was always a handsome boy. Died last year, did you know?”

“I did not. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Arcturus is still hanging on in there, the wretch, but it won’t be long until he’s gone too and then _I’ll_ be the eldest remaining Black,” she huffed, and eased herself into a high-backed armchair beside the fireplace. Kreacher appeared then, holding a tray with a full tea service. Regulus poured his aunt a cup, and took a seat on the couch.

“Now, Regulus,” she said firmly, after taking a sip of her tea and apparently finding it to her liking. “What is the meaning of all this. You let that poor wife of yours bury you in the ground and turn up a decade later and get her all upset.”

“It was never my intention to upset Clementine,” he said, looking down into his own teacup.

“Well you _have_ upset her, so what are you going to do about it?”

“I… I have apologised. And I have told her that I understand that I have made a terrible mistake, and that I will endeavour to earn her forgiveness. Unfortunately that just upset her even more. I… I think she needs time, Aunt.”

“Time? I think not. The two have you have wasted enough _time_.”

“Then what would you suggest?” he asked, knowing full well that she was simply dying to give him some advice.

“Talk to her. Write her notes. Sit with her. Give her your full attention. Ask about her — she’s changed a lot, you know. Extraordinary girl.”

“So everyone keeps telling me,” he said, smiling fondly.

“And I don’t suppose you’ve thought to ask _why_?” she snorted. “No, didn’t think so. Regulus, pull your head from the sand and start paying attention or you’re going to lose that girl _and_ your daughter for good.”

“You’ve met Carina?” he asked, head snapping up.

“Of course I have.”

“What… what is she like?”

“Ask your wife.”

Regulus sighed and leaned back against the couch. “Then I suppose you are aware that my wife and my daughter are living in Grimmauld Place with my brother and the werewolf?”

“The _werewolf_. Regulus, really, where are your manners. His name is _Remus Lupin_.”

“Fine. _Remus Lupin_ ,” he said, rolling his eyes rather petulantly. “Are you aware that _Remus Lupin_ is living in the same house as my wife and daughter?”

“I am aware of that, yes. Your point?”

“Don’t you think it a little _unsafe_?”

“He and your brother _and_ your wife have assured me that they are taking adequate measures to ensure the safety of _everyone_ in that house.”

“And exactly how safe can a werewolf be?” he scoffed.

“It is not my business to pry, Regulus, but I trust that Clementine has _her_ daughter’s best interests at heart. Why don’t you take this up with your wife?”

“I don’t like it,” he said, eyes narrowed as he resumed staring at his teacup.

At that moment, Kreacher and another house-elf — a fairly spritely-looking one, quite possibly the youngest house-elf Regulus had ever seen — appeared carrying a silver platter filled with sandwiches and a large round chocolate cake. Regulus busied himself with watching the elves serve the sandwiches and refill the teapot while his Aunt gazed out of the window, either unaware or uncaring of the tension that had filled the room.

“After all this time, Regulus, why have you decided to come back _now_?” she asked him eventually once the elves had left the room again.

“Perhaps I should discuss that with my wife first.”

“Don’t take that tone with me, young man,” she said crossly. “Why have you returned to London? Where have you been hiding?”

Regulus sighed and placed his plate back down on the coffee table, taking a long drink of tea (wishing it was something stronger) before answering. “I have spent the majority of my absence in mainland Greece, with the odd vocational trip to the islands, the surrounding Balkan countries, and Italy. It was during one of these trips to procure a supplier of Graphorn horns that I came across some rather unsavoury rumours, regarding a particular forest in Albania.”

His great-aunt made no comment, but watched him with sharp eyes.

“Muggles in the area had been spreading rumours that the forest was haunted, or else occupied by an old witch who was enchanting the animals that lived there to cause harm to any travellers passing through. The Albanian, Greek and Macedonian Ministries had sent a small team of Aurors and Beast Specialists to the forest to try and discover what was happening. I believe they initially assumed a Hag was causing mischief, stirring up trouble as they are wont to do.

“I had a terrible, dread feeling about this, Aunt. I made contact with a young Greek Auror who had been following the team’s progress back in Athens. He disclosed that they had discovered evidence that a number of animals — including, to my horror, _snakes_ — had been found withered and decayed. The working theory was that these creatures had been possessed.

“You remember, Aunt, the task that Clementine and I were embarking on before my disappearance?”

“The horcrux. Yes, I remember. It’s quite difficult to forget that sort of thing, you know.”

“Quite. Well, you remember how we surmised that, if a horcrux had been made, a piece of one’s _soul_ might cling to life even if one’s _body_ had been destroyed?”

“What are you trying to say, Regulus? Spit it out, boy.”

“I believe that the Dark Lord never truly died. His body was destroyed, but his soul survived. He fled to Albania, where he has been subsisting by possessing the bodies of smaller, lesser animals.”

“You mean to say you didn’t destroy that horcrux? The locket?”

“No, Aunt. I destroyed it,” Regulus sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I believe the Dark Lord made _more_ horcruxes than that one in the cave.”

Cassiopeia stared at him for a long, stretched-out minute. Her teacup shook in her hand, clattering against its porcelain saucer. She placed them both down on the table to the side of her armchair and folded her hands in her lap. “Well,” she said, clearly attempting to stop her voice from trembling. “Well. That is… that is quite unfathomable.”

“But fathom it we must, Aunt,” Regulus said firmly. “I have returned with the intention to find and destroy this remaining horcrux — or horcruxes, however many there may be — and then I _will_ destroy the Dark Lord. For good. I refuse to let another generation of children suffer through a pointless, needless war helmed by a madman who has lied about his birth, his blood, and his name. I refuse to let my _daughter_ suffer.”

 

 

 


	6. in vino veritas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I see you’ve been spending my fortune in my absence.”

Clementine stepped briskly into the living room, her cheeks flushed from the cool evening air, and swept loose strands of hair away from her face. A multitude of boxes and bags and oddly-shaped parcels followed her out of the large fireplace and at a wave of her hand began stacking themselves neatly in an empty corner of the room.

“Hello, Kreacher!” she beamed, turning towards the sound of the old house-elf apparating into the room. “How are you? Did you see Regulus?”

“Kreacher is happy to be serving Master and Mistress in their noble house once again,” he said, and gave her a low bow.

“And we are delighted to have you back! Would you mind awfully helping me with these parcels?”

“It is Kreacher’s duty to help Mistress with whatever she needs,” he replied, hurrying over to the stack of packages.

“Kreacher, I understand now why it must have been so distressing for you to be here before, without Regulus. Thank you for saving him, and thank you for keeping his secret safe for him,” she said in a low voice, and patted him on the arm. He looked up at her with those big sad eyes and before he had the chance to reply or burst into tears or something even worse she turned back to the packages and started to unwrap them.

“These can go straight up to Remus and Sirius’s bathroom on the third floor,” she said, making a separate pile of potion bottles and jars of ointment of varying sizes; Kreacher conjured her a basket to make the task a little easier. “If you could swap these new ones around with the ones that are already there, that would be lovely. That way Remus might not notice them. He’s still so silly about me purchasing medication but honestly, it would be far ruder to walk past the apothecary and _not_ buy the things that he needs.”

“Yes, Mistress, Kreacher agrees,” he said, nodding his head.

“And then I saw these in the window of Twilfitt’s and thought, well, I can’t remember the last time Sirius had new dress robes so I chose them each a set. And these ones,” she explained, stacking up a pile of slim black boxes higher than Kreacher himself, “I picked these out for Regulus. A mixture of day- and formalwear because I wasn’t really sure what he had brought back with him. I hope they’re to his taste but, well, I suppose he can tell me if they’re not.”

“And where will Kreacher put the Master’s new clothing?” asked Kreacher slyly.

“Oh, right. Erm… has Regulus expressed an opinion on where he might like to sleep…?”

“He has not, Mistress.”

“Well, I suppose… in his old bedroom then, Kreacher. Thank you.”

Clementine cleared her throat and tucked her hair behind her ears, turning back to the rest of the parcels as Kreacher balanced the basket of potions on top of the stack of Twilfitt and Tatling’s boxes and disapparated from the room. There were two large bags from Flourish and Blotts, a hamper full of the latest products from Sugarplum’s, some soft parcels wrapped in brown paper stamped with the Quality Quidditch Supplies logo, owl treats, pots of ink and fresh quills, some opalescent and shimmering potions from Madam Primpernelle’s, jars of loose-leaf tea, and more things that Clementine had already forgotten. Perhaps she _did_ have a tendency to shop her feelings away.

“I see you’ve been spending my fortune in my absence.”

She straightened her back and looked up, cheeks flushing as she saw Regulus stood in the doorway, arms folded and regarding the mass of goods that now surrounded her. But he looked amused, rather than annoyed, so she straightened out her skirts and began searching through an unmarked paper bag.

“You’ve been home one day and it’s already back to being _your_ fortune?” she teased. “Here, I bought these for you.”

Regulus crossed the room and took the stack of colourful books from her.

“Are these children’s books?” he asked curiously as he flipped through the covers of the slim novels.

“They are. All written by a muggle author named Roald Dahl. A couple of years ago a stall in Diagon popped up selling muggle books. Carina will spend all her pocket money there, unless Harry can persuade her to pitch in with him at Gambol and Japes. Dahl is her favourite author… I thought you might like to acquaint yourself with some of his works before she returns home for the Easter holidays.”

Regulus had snapped his head up at the first mention of his daughter and was now staring at her quite intensely.

“You will permit me to meet her?” he asked.

“I will,” she said carefully. “ _If_ that is what she would like. I will not stand in the way of you having a relationship with her, but it must be her decision.”

“I understand. Thank you,” he said sincerely, and knelt down on the floor across from her. “And thank you for calling Kreacher home. We both very much appreciate it.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Clementine said lightly, waving her hand at him.

“No, it’s not nothing,” he insisted. “It means an awful lot to me. Thank you, Clementine.”

She felt her cheeks flushing again and she looked away, unable to bear the sincerity in his expression.

“So what else have you been frittering away _our_ gold on?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he surveyed the mess around them.

“Far too much,” she admitted, looking woefully at the evidence of her attempt at retail therapy. “I had only intended to go to Slug and Jigger’s, but then I suppose I got distracted by all the other shop displays, and I kept seeing things that I thought everyone might like, and the children will be back from school in a couple of weeks and I like to make sure they have some new books and toys for when they return… and, well, you know how I am with shops.”

“Yes, I know,” he smiled indulgently, before his expression changed to one of concern. “Why were you at the apothecary? Are you ill?”

“Me? No, not at all! I went for Remus’s next supply of — oh, but of course, you probably won’t know! There has been a _huge_ development in lycanthropy treatment, a new potion. Remus has to take it each night for the week leading up to the full moon, and apparently it tastes vile, but it means he can retain his human mind throughout his transformation. It’s miraculous, really.”

“It’s… safe?”

“Perfectly. Although he still refuses to transform here. He goes back to his parents’ place during the full moon and Sirius transforms with him —”

“ _He infected Sirius_?” Regulus hissed.

“What? No! Regulus, _no_ ,” she exclaimed, horrified at the mere thought. “No, Sirius is… gosh, Sirius is an _animagus_ , not a lycanthrope.”

He stared at her, stunned. “…what? Since when?”

“Erm, since school, I believe,” she said, taking a deep breath. “He and James Potter and… and Pettigrew, they all learned so they might be with Remus through his transformations and help him, if they could.”

“My brother learned to become an animagus _illegally_ while he was _still at school_ so he could help a _werewolf_?”

“Amazing, weren’t they?”

“That’s not the word I would have used,” he muttered, eyes darkening. “Their nicknames… _Padfoot_. What is Sirius’s form?”

“A dog,” she smiled. “A terrible big smelly thing. Sheds hair like you wouldn’t believe.”

“But of course he’d be a dog,” Regulus sighed, rolling his eyes. “Well. Any other shocking news to impart? Are you secretly a vampire, or something?”

“Oh no, nothing as exciting as that I’m afraid,” she laughed.

“Master, dinner will be served shortly.”

Regulus and Clementine both looked up as Kreacher bowed to them and hurried away once more. Regulus stood and held his hand out to help Clementine up from the floor.

“I took the liberty of asking Kreacher to prepare us a meal. I hope that’s alright,” he explained. “I… there are quite a lot of things I feel I ought to tell you. I thought dinner might be… I would have taken you out someplace, but with the situation as it is…”

“Dinner here is perfect, thank you. I have missed Kreacher’s cooking,” she smiled, and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. It almost felt like old times, like _before_ , when his mother would be out visiting her mother or her sister-in-law or her nieces and Regulus would sneak her in for an impromptu meal together.

“Right. Excellent,” he grinned, his face lighting up for the first time that she’d seen since his return, and led her through to the formal dining room. It hadn’t seen much use at all these past few years; they usually ate at the old wooden table in the kitchen, where Remus could keep a watchful eye on the cooker and Clementine didn’t have to worry about the children making a mess and Sirius didn’t have any awful memories about his mother’s dinner parties.

But tonight the normally dark dining room had been filled with the light of countless candles, some in towering candlesticks on the gleaming dining table or resting on the mantlepiece and others floating towards the ceiling as they did in the Great Hall. The table itself was set for two, one place at the head of the table and the other to its right, with shining silver cutlery (the _good_ cutlery) and cut-crystal goblets, and a bottle of red wine was resting at the side.

“Reggie, this is… gosh,” Clementine was momentarily lost for words as she gazed around the room in surprise. It looked beautiful, and unmistakably _romantic_ , and she wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about that just yet. The hurt and the anger still felt very fresh, but it was almost easier to ignore those feelings when he was right in front of her looking handsome and being lovely, than when she was in the dark, alone. Regulus pulled a chair out for her and she sat, and felt his arm resting on the back of her chair as he leaned over to pour her a glass of wine.

There were softly-scented flowers and herbs strewn across the table too, and Clementine wished she’d had some warning so she might have washed and changed before dinner. She patted the back of her hair self-consciously and attempted to pin the loose strands around her face and at the nape of her neck back up into her bun.

“I thought… I thought since it was just the two of us tonight, that we could… well, talk about things. And I thought the wine might help with that,” he admitted as he took his seat at the head of the table and poured himself a large glass.

“To conversations, then,” she smiled, and raised her glass towards him.

“To conversations,” he agreed. They both took rather large gulps of their drinks.

“Did Cass put you up to this?” Clementine asked, terribly curious about exactly what Cassiopeia had had to say to her great-nephew.

“No! Well, she suggested that we talk things through, but this was my idea,” he said, gesturing to the room at large.

“Hmm. She suggested something rather more… well, _suggestive_ , to me.”

Clementine tried to hide her laugh behind her napkin as Regulus almost choked on his wine. His eyebrows had shot up his forehead and there was the faintest pink tinge to his pale cheeks. “Is it hot in here?” he said lightly, tugging at his collar.

“Was she awful to you?” Clementine asked, leaning forwards.

“Cass? Actually, no. Not as awful as I was expecting, anyway. She _hugged_ me, in fact.”

“Gosh, that’s new. Your return must have melted the old girl’s heart. Perhaps we’ll even get Christmas gifts this year!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t count on it. She also bemoaned my height, or lack thereof, and called Grandfather Arcturus a ‘wretch’.”

“Well, she has a point. About Arcturus, not your height,” Clementine quickly clarified. “I think you are just the perfect height, Reggie. I’d find it terribly inconvenient to have to perform a hovering charm on myself just to… well.”

Regulus cleared his throat and Clementine looked away, leaning back again to allow Kreacher to serve their food.

“Do you see Grandfather often?” asked Regulus, after thanking the house-elf.

“No, not really. He sometimes lurks about when I go to visit my Great-Aunt Melania, like a great ghoul waiting for an opportunity to clank his chains at me and tell me what a terrible mother I am. And I don’t think he’s been _here_ since… well, since Sirius moved back in, I suppose.”

“Not even for Yule?”

She paused and took the time to cut up a slice of the delicious-smelling roast lamb Kreacher had rustled up for them, unsure of how Regulus might take this news.“Ah… Druella and Narcissa have taken over the Yule hosting duties.”

“I see,” he frowned. The Blacks’ Yule soirées were something of a tradition, albeit a blatant display of the family’s wealth and _influence_ , and they had _always_ been hosted by the head of the family, in the family seat at Grimmauld Place. “So I’m assuming Yule has been held at the Malfoys’?”

“Yes. We haven’t received an invite in some years, although I imagine that will change once word gets out of your return. Do you plan to call on Narcissa? I know she was always your favourite cousin.”

“Would you advise against it?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said bluntly, setting down her knife and fork. “I believe her family to be something of an embarrassment, quite frankly. She blindly follows her idiotic husband, who didn’t even have the decency to admit his wrongdoings but simply _bought_ his way out of Azkaban with a nice fat pile of galleons and now spends his days lounging around the Ministry, poking his nose where it doesn’t belong and lording it over the rest of us. He has no manners, no grace, no _class_. I don’t know _what_ he slipped into Narcissa’s pumpkin juice to get her to agree to marry him but I found him detestable as a teenager and even more so as an adult.”

“That was quite the diatribe, Clementine,” he said, something akin to pride in his voice.

“Yes, well. I think it’s warranted where Malfoy is concerned,” she frowned, picking up her fork to stab ferociously at a carrot on her plate.

“Perhaps I should lie low for the time being.”

“That might not be the worst course of action. Your defection is not well known, and I do fear that if you were to venture outside and someone were to recognise you…”

“Who does know about my defection?”

“The people within these walls. Andromeda and her family. Auntie Cass, of course.”

“That’s all?”

“I’m afraid so. And of those, only Cassiopeia and I know the full story.”

“I see.”

He fell silent, not even looking at her as he drank his wine and ate his food. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, trying to subtly gauge his expression without alerting him to the fact that she was watching him. Was he angry? Irritated at her for not telling anyone of what he had done? Was that what she was _supposed_ to have done? Perhaps he should have left her more specific instructions in the event of his untimely demise.

She had tried to hint at the truth behind his actions, in that letter the _Prophet_ had published and at his graveside. She had wanted to tell everyone, shout it from the rooftops, write a full exposé — and goodness knows the tabloids and witches’ periodicals _still_ sent in requests for interviews — but she didn’t think he’d have wanted that. She wasn’t sure if it would have been safe, either; Malfoy wasn’t the only Death Eater to have escaped the jaws of Azkaban. There surely would have been retaliation.

 

* * *

 

 

 

“You should reclaim Yule. Bring it back here, where it belongs,” she said suddenly.

They’d finished dinner in awkward, stilted conversation and retired to the living room even though they probably should have gone to bed. But the room was warm and the fire was glowing, logs crackling, and the wine was delicious and the wireless was humming softly in the background and she had discarded her shoes and curled up beside him on the sofa, not as close as he might like but close enough that he, if he’d had the nerve, could reach out and touch her.

“Reclaim Yule?” he repeated, surprised.

“Yes! If you are planning to stay until Christmas, of course…”

“The only reason I will leave is if you wish me to leave,” he said softly. He thought he had made that clear to her, last night. Perhaps he would have to make sure to tell her every day, until she believed it.

“I can’t just… this is _your_ house, Regulus.”

“It is more yours than it is mine, now.”

“No,” she countered, sitting up straighter. “You are the head of this family —”

“Sirius —”

“ _No_. Sirius doesn’t want it. Sirius would be _terrible_ at it. He doesn’t care about our name, or our history, or anything about the family at all apart from the people that live in this house. It’s yours, Regulus. It’s been yours since you were fifteen. If you want it, take it.”

He loved the way she had said _our_ name. _Our_ history. She had embraced his family in a way he could never even have dreamed, and it had embraced her back. Clementine understood the importance of ancestry, lineage, sacred heirlooms, of the word _Family_ — capital F — and all that encompassed, without succumbing to the mania that his mother had. She had made him feel proud of his name once more. _Toujours Pur doesn’t have to be about blood_ , she had whispered to him late one night, on the rooftop where no one could overhear them. _Maybe it was never meant to be about blood_ , he had whispered back, and she had nodded her understanding, had held his hand and told him that she believed in _him_ , that she thought _he_ could be the one to set the family back on the right path.

Maybe he was ready for it now.

“Alright,” he breathed. “Alright. But, there are things we need to talk about first. I… I must admit that I am astounded by your patience.”

“My patience?” she questioned.

“Sirius demanded to know the nature of my return within minutes of seeing me. Aunt Cass didn’t take much longer. But you haven’t brought it up at all.”

“I won’t deny that I’ve been curious,” she said. “But I know that you will tell me in your own time, when you think it’s right to do so.”

She granted him a gentle smile before turning back to the fire. He watched her for a few moments and marvelled at how utterly calm and peaceful she seemed despite the tumult of the past couple of days. He was loathe to disturb her peace, but the wine had given him the courage he needed and now it was time.

“Clementine,” he said, clearing his throat. “What do you remember, of that night?”

“The night you… left?” she clarified. He nodded, hating how her face had fallen. “Well, I remember coming home from dinner feeling mightily angry that you had gone without saying a word. A _letter_ doesn’t count, Regulus.”

He closed his mouth, swallowed his protest, and let her continue.

“I intended to wait up for you but I must have fallen asleep because it was Kreacher that woke me, just before dawn. I remember the time because our bedroom was filled with that pinky glow you used to love so much. Anyway, Kreacher was… distressed. I managed to calm him enough that he could tell me that you had gone together to the cave — which I had surmised from the letter you left — and that you had managed to retrieve the locket but had… perished in the process. The lake and the… inferi…”

Clementine looked away again, frowning. She tugged at the pins in her hair and busied her hands with pulling it loose from its bun as though that might conceal the fact that she was shaking terribly.

“I very nearly drowned,” he said quietly, watching her. “I would have, if not for Kreacher. I had ordered him to take the locket and run, but he disobeyed me. Possibly the first and only time he had ever disobeyed a direct order.”

“Why?” she whispered. “Why did you order him to leave you there? Why not order him to take you, too?”

“Because the locket was more important. It was _essential_ that the locket make it out of that cave and be destroyed. You knew the methods; I imagine Kreacher could have managed it himself, too. I couldn’t risk the locket getting left behind if Kreacher was too focused on getting _me_ out safely.”

And this was exactly why he hadn’t told her his plan, the _full_ plan, at the time. She was too emotional. She wasn’t thinking _logically_.

“That’s not true, Reggie. You are more important than a stupid old locket, even a locket that was the vessel for the Dark Lord’s soul. I’m glad Kreacher knew that as well as I do.”

“But —”

“No, Reggie. We could have gone back to the locket a second time, with a better plan. You were letting the lion in your heart rule the serpent in your head.”

She gave him that knowing look that he loved and hated in equal measures because perhaps she was right. Perhaps he had been the one not thinking logically — he _had_ been quite reckless that night. She had gone out for dinner and left him at home for the first time and he had taken that opportunity and rushed over to the cave with a half-formed plan and that ill-considered note because he knew she would have stopped him if she had known. He’d been impulsive. Never again.

He sighed and leaned back against the sofa, gazing up at the ceiling.

“What happened afterwards?” she prompted. “Where did you go, after the cave?”

“Kreacher brought me here,” he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I knew mother was in Whitby for the summer and would not miss Kreacher until the morning at least. The potion rendered me too weak to be able to move much further at that point.”

“ _Conium maculatum_?” she asked, referring to the theories they had made on what the mysterious potion could be, based on what Kreacher was able to tell them of his own experience in the cave. Poison hemlock had been at the top of their list.

“That may have been one of the ingredients. It was unlike anything I have ever encountered before; perhaps one of Severus’s inventions. It caused indescribable pain and thirst. And… haunting visions. Madness perhaps. Delirium. I saw the most terrible things.”

Regulus closed his eyes and tried to remember to breathe. The scars at his neck and his arms and his legs itched and his throat burned. He thought he had buried the painfulness of the memories somewhere deep inside himself, but talking about it for the first time in so long, talking about it with _her_ , was dredging them all back up again. _You’re safe. You’re not there; you’re safe._ He repeated in his mind, over and over. He focused on the warmth of the fire on his face, the warmth of his wife beside him. He would never have to go back there and face those trials again. Those visions, those nightmares, had never come to pass.

He felt Clementine shift beside him and his breath hitched in his throat as she took his hand, he flinched at the touch but she held on, entwining their fingers together.

“I’m sorry you thought you had to go through that without me,” she whispered.

Regulus opened his eyes and gave her a sad smile. “I’m glad I could save you from those horrors, at the very least.”

“But afterwards? Why didn’t you come back to me after the potion had worn off?”

“I was scared,” he admitted, squeezing her hand. “Those visions were all of you, Clementine. I was terrified they would come true if I were to return home to you. If the Dark Lord discovered what I had done and you were by my side… I couldn’t risk you getting harmed, so I fled to Greece. It was by far the most difficult decision I have ever made but I believed it the right thing to do, at the time.”

“But he died. Two years after you left, he died. Why didn’t you come back _then_?”

He looked away again, unable to bear her trembling lips and her watery eyes and the crack in her voice. “I both feared and hoped that you had… moved on. Found someone better than me, someone _safer_. Someone who deserved you.”

“Reggie,” she gently chided, and he felt her free hand land lightly on his face and direct him back towards her. “How could I have ever loved another after I had known you?”

He swallowed and released her hand so he could envelop her in his arms, closing the distance between them at last. He held her tightly, arms squeezing across her back, as he buried his face in the warmth of her neck and her hair and the almost overwhelming scent of her perfume. She sighed softly, _contentedly_ , and he thought it might be the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Why now?” she whispered.

“There has been a… presence, discovered in the forests of Albania. Possessing the bodies of small animals and reptiles and causing them to decay at an alarming rate. I believe it to be what remains of the Dark Lord.”

He felt her stiffen in his arms and held her ever more tightly.

“I believe that he made more than one horcrux, and that he is searching for a way to restore his corporeal form. And I’m going to stop him, Clementine. For you and for our daughter and for all those other children that _cannot_ be dragged into another war. I will end him. For good.”

For a time they stayed like that, holding each other, their hearts beating fiercely against each other. The wireless was crackling with white noise, its scheduled programming having ended for the night, but Regulus’s ears were filled with the sound of his wife’s unsteady breathing.

“You mustn’t do this alone, Reggie. You _mustn’t_ ,” she insisted, leaning back in his arms to stare at him intensely. “Swear it. Swear to me that you will _not_ shut me out this time.”

“I do. I — I swear it.”

“I refuse to lose you again.”

 

 


	7. seven: epistula

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We’re doing the zodiac constellations in Astronomy this term and on Thursday it was Leo. Everyone looked at me when Sinistra showed us dad’s star."

Clementine awoke, once again, in Regulus’s childhood bedroom still wearing yesterday’s clothes. This was becoming a terrible, embarrassing habit. She groaned, lamenting her apparent inability to act as a functioning adult whenever _he_ was around and rolled over, away from the bright morning sunlight that was searing her eyes. Her hand hit something cold and smooth and she sat up in alarm.

She immediately regretted that sudden movement as a thick, dull pain spread through her temples but she found a glass bottle lying conspicuously on the pillow, filled with a viscous orange liquid. She picked it up and read the attached label, instantly recognising her husband’s handwriting: _just in case your head feels as awful as mine did upon waking. — R.A.B._

Clementine laughed — that hurt, too — and uncorked the bottle. The liquid felt cool as it slid down her throat despite having lain in a patch of sunlight on her pillow for Helga knows how long, but she could feel the potion work its magic as it spread through her body and soon her headache had completely disappeared.

She quickly washed and dressed, feeling a little bubble of happiness darting about inside her stomach as she went through her morning routines. She was _excited_ to see Regulus again; scared, yes, about what he had told her last night about the Dark Lord and the possibility of another horcrux, but mostly excited because her husband had come home and confided in her and she could _help_ him.

“I woke up with a hangover,” she announced as she entered the library, finding him ensconced behind a stack of books. “You have become a terrible influence in your old age.”

“It was only one bottle,” he said, glancing up at her with a smile.

“One bottle _each_.”

He moved a stack of parchment from the chair next to him and she slid into it, passing him a mug of coffee she’d procured from Kreacher. His fingers brushed against hers as he took it from her and she blushed, feeling like a bloody schoolgirl.

“Did you take the potion?” he asked lightly.

“Yes, thank you. I didn’t… you should be able to sleep in your own bedroom.”

“I rather like to think of you sleeping there.”

She blushed again. Merlin, she could do with another bottle of that wine because apparently she needed it to be able to hold a conversation with her husband. She wondered how many bottles it would take for her to have the courage to invite him to share the bed with her again, how many bottles it would take for her to be _ready_ to share the bed with him again. Six, perhaps?

“Are you working on the… erm, the horcruxes?” she asked, clearing her throat.

“I was trying to, but I’m not entirely sure where to start,” he admitted, gesturing to the books and journals and scraps of parchment. “I’ve just been sorting through our old notes and collating them with my new research.”

“You said last night that the Dark Lord isn’t gone, that he is… existing,” she said slowly. “Are you absolutely positive that it’s another horcrux? It just seems unthinkable that he could have created _one_ , let alone more.”

“I know,” Regulus sighed, and leaned back in his chair. He took a drink of coffee, twirling his elegant black quill in his other hand. “I suppose we could consider that the killing curse wasn’t as powerful as it might otherwise be when it struck him, seeing as it rebounded off the… off Harry. Perhaps it wasn’t fatal. Perhaps it isn’t even possible to use the killing curse against oneself.”

“Perhaps. Didn’t you once tell me that all you really need to cast an Unforgivable is the intent to do so?”

“Yes, but I’m sure the Dark Lord didn’t _intend_ to kill himself. I’m not sure if his wand would allow him to self-harm, either… But why _did_ the curse rebound? Why was Harry not killed? I’ve been searching through the papers and can’t find anything that explains this in anything written about the events of that night. Why should the only known person to have survived the killing curse be a _child_?”

Clementine looked down at her hands, resting gently around her teacup, and thought, not for the first time, about whether she would have had the strength to do what Lily Potter had done. If the Dark Lord in all his terrifying glory had wanted her child, would she have done it? Would she have stepped between them and given herself, willingly, to save Carina?

“It was a mother’s sacrifice,” she said softly.

“Excuse me?”

“Albus said that Lily gave her life for Harry. That her sacrifice activated some kind of ancient protective enchantment that left Harry with just a scar. He said that the enchantment was powered by love.”

“Love?”

“Albus said that love is the most powerful magic of all.”

Regulus looked at her, frowning. She, too, had been… not _sceptical_ , that was too strong a word, but perhaps _unsure_ when she had heard Dumbledore’s theory. The idea that love — such a pure emotion, one that could sneak up on you and envelop you before you could even realise it — could overpower the darkest, most complex magic a wizard could conjure?

But then, she thought, as she watched the man beside her reach up to scratch the back of his neck, no magic she had ever experienced could live up to that delightful rushing feeling she had whenever she was with Regulus. Touching him made her skin spark. Kissing him had made her dizzy. Making love to him had felt like diving into a vat of Felix Felicis. She had always felt more powerful with him by her side.

Regulus held his hand out and summoned a blank sheet of parchment from a stack at the end of the table, and scratched down Dumbledore’s name alongside the words _ritual?_ and _muggle-born_?

Curious. “You wish to speak with Albus?” she asked.

“I’d like to know more about this sacrifice, yes. Why do you ask? Is he in your bad books along with the Malfoys?”

“I don’t know,” she sighed. She knew that she wasn’t ready for Dumbledore to know that her husband wasn’t dead. She wasn’t ready for him to pull Regulus away from her and pepper him with questions and theories before handing him off to the DMLE. “I don’t necessarily trust that he wouldn’t hurt _us_ to bring down Voldemort. Sirius has long been suspicious about his motivations in regards to Harry. But we can talk more about that when the boys return. In the meantime, where should we start?”

“With this, I suppose.”

Regulus set his quill down and pulled a gold chain from his pocket, with a — oh gosh, with the _locket_ hanging from the end. He held it out to her but she couldn’t help but recoil from the charred and blackened remains of what had once been that brightly shining object. She could still sense the dark magic emanating from it in waves, even though the fragment of soul inside it had clearly been destroyed.

“It’s completely safe now,” he said reassuringly and took her hand, dropping the locket gently into her palm.

Clementine turned it over in her hand and held it up by the chain, mesmerised as it slowly rotated in a stream of light coming through the open window. “You kept it?” she asked, unable to keep the wonder from her voice.

“I hoped I would be able to show you one day.”

She looked over at him and saw a boyish grin spread across his face, the same one he wore whenever he’d plucked the snitch from the air or scored highest in a class test. The one he wore when she had agreed to marry him. It was a look of joy, triumph and pride. And he fully deserved to feel all of those things because this… this was astounding. She didn’t think there was anyone else in the world who had attempted to destroy a horcrux and succeeded.

“This is amazing,” she breathed, and if possible his grin grew wider. “ _You_ are amazing. You did it, darling!”

“It was the basilisk venom. My employer in Greece managed to procure a small vial for me,” he explained. “I have half left.”

“Your employer?” she asked.

“At the shop where I worked.”

“ _Stop_ ,” she said, laughing at the image of her Regulus _working_ and in a _shop_ of all places! “You didn’t?!”

“I did,” he said indignantly. “It was an apothecary in a small village near Thessaloniki. It gave me terrible callouses, look.”

He held out his palms for her to inspect and she laughed even harder; the mere idea of him getting callouses from working too hard was quite ridiculous.

“I am going to ignore the revelation that you went to our intended honeymoon destination _without me_ and just say that I am glad you came home,” she said softly, and handed him back the locket. He looked at her, surprised, as he placed it safely back into his pocket. “I… I know it’s complicated, and will likely be complicated for some time. But I want you to know that I _am_ happy. That you’re here. I’m happy you came back home.”

“As am I,” he smiled.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

They sat shoulder to shoulder at the table in the library, heads bent over a large sheet of parchment with a cold and forgotten pot of tea to the side. Slytherin’s locket lay in front of them, a grisly reminder of what was at stake.

They had started with objects that the Dark Lord might have chosen to use as vessels for his soul. There was so little that they knew, even after all this time. Regulus had only become aware of the first locket by accident, really. The Dark Lord had often spoke of perpetual rule, of a quest for immortality, of reaching further into the Dark Arts than any wizard had ever gone before… but he had thought it mere blustering until Kreacher had returned from that wretched task, sodden and distraught and speaking of an object shrouded in darkness.

Regulus had vowed to get to the bottom of whatever the Dark Lord had done but now… they had nothing to go on, except a hunch that there might be _more_ horcruxes out there.

They had surmised that there was at least one more horcrux out there, potentially five — which, while _beyond_ horrifying to contemplate, would make a total of seven pieces of the Dark Lord’s soul. Something Regulus imagined the Dark Lord would be mightily pleased about achieving: no one, to his knowledge, had _ever_ gone that far before.

At least the first one had been dealt with.

_ONE: Slytherin’s locket (connection: ancestral relic; location: cave; protection: potion + inferi; method of destruction: basilisk venom)_

They discussed other heirlooms that might have belonged to Salazar Slytherin — his wand, potentially — and other ancestors that the Dark Lord had claimed to be descended from; when they drew a blank there, Clementine had reeled off an impressive (if mildly disturbing) list of dark wizards that he might have hoped to emulate or surpass.

_Potential:  
_ _Slytherin heirlooms — wand? Portraits & biography (Phineas — library)  
_ _DL ancestors? (Cass)  
_ _Grindelwald  
_ _Herpo the Foul  
_ _Baba Yaga  
_ _Owle Bullock  
_ _Raczidian  
_ _Morgan le Fay  
_ _Medea  
_ _Gormlaith Gaunt  
_ _Corvinus Gaunt  
_ _Yardley Platt  
_ _Ekrizdis  
_ _Merwyn the Malicious_

“…and anyone who ever mastered the Elder Wand, potentially,” Clementine finished.

“You don’t still believe in all that Hallows nonsense, do you?” he scoffed. She’d been obsessed with that fairytale for as long as he’d known her.

“Ask Harry about his generations-old _Invisibility Cloak_ before you start saying the Hallows are nonsense,” she replied sagely.

Regulus raised an eyebrow. If true, that _would_ be a remarkable cloak — demiguise hairs were not known for their strength, and most invisibility cloaks lost their powers after a few years. His grandfather Pollux had had one for a time; grandfather Arcturus had deemed it a ridiculous frivolity and insisted that _his_ children learn how to perform proper disillusionment charms instead. But they, too, were not infallible.

He was disturbed from his thoughts by Kreacher, who shuffled into the library carrying a silver platter piled high with sandwiches, cakes, and a fresh pot of tea. He placed the platter down in the centre of the table, taking care to avoid their mass of research materials, humming merrily to himself all the while. It warmed Regulus’s heart to see the old elf so happy.

“Mistress,” Kreacher croaked, bowing to Clementine. And it warmed Regulus’s heart yet more to see the elf address his wife in that manner. “A Hogwarts owl arrived with this letter for you.”

“Thank you, Kreacher,” she smiled, and took the neatly rolled-up scroll from the house-elf.

Regulus watched her with curiosity as she broke the seal and unrolled the parchment. Her eyes flew across the page, a frown growing deeper and deeper on her face and he had to restrain himself from leaning in to read the letter over her shoulder.

“Is everything alright?” he asked quietly, once she had finished reading.

She blinked once or twice before answering. “Yes… I think so. The letter is from Carina. Would you… would you like to read it?”

 _Would he like to read it_? He could think of literally nothing else he would rather do in this moment — to read his daughter’s words, written in her own hand… “I would,” he choked out.

His hand shook as he held open the scroll, and began to read with enthusiasm.

_Hi mum,_

_I had another dream on Friday. It was pretty bad and Morag made me go to the Hospital Wing. Pomfrey wanted me to take a dose of Dreamless Sleep but I know you and Uncle Sirius don’t like it so I said no but she said it would help if I did. She didn’t force me or anything, but I’m scared she might if it happens again? Could you write to her and tell her I don’t have to take it? I’ll try and sleep better, I promise._

“Carina suffers from nightmares?” asked Regulus, tearing his eyes from the page to look at Clementine. It concerned him; the way she wrote made it seem like this was a frequent occurrence, and the fact that she had reason to know her mother’s views on Dreamless Sleep was quite worrying.

“Less frequently in recent years. I hope this isn’t a relapse… perhaps it was brought on by the Astronomy lesson,” she said, and pointed to the next paragraph.

_We’re doing the zodiac constellations in Astronomy this term and on Thursday it was Leo. Everyone looked at me when Sinistra showed us dad’s star. I’ll be at school on his birthday this year, that’ll be weird. Maybe you could come up to Hogwarts for it? Harry showed me dad’s name on the Quidditch shield in the Trophy room, we reckon our dads must have played against each other though James was a Chaser not a Seeker like dad and Harry. Did you watch them play? Did you support Slytherin? Zella says her dad used to wear her mum’s school scarf when she had a match. Did you wear dad’s? I wish I was good at flying like dad. Do you think I’m like him much?_

Regulus breathed in deeply and read the paragraph over and over again. _Dad’s star_. _Dad’s name._ _Our dads. Like dad._ He hadn’t realised how he had longed to hear his daughter call him that, hadn’t even considered _what_ she might call him — father, papa, daddy — but his heart swelled at seeing it there in writing, so neat and looping like her mother’s.

She knew where the star he was named for hung in the night sky. She knew he had been a Seeker at school, and in Slytherin. She wanted to be like him. She wanted to celebrate his birthday. _She wanted to be like him_.

Clementine reached out for his hand and he gripped hers tightly, jaw clenched.

“Is she… is she like me?” he asked, still staring at his daughter’s words.

“Absolutely,” breathed Clementine. “She is intelligent, self-sufficient, thoughtful. Stubborn as anything. She likes reading and Runic puzzles and steals all the roast potatoes at dinner. She even enjoys History of Magic; that _certainly_ comes from you. Everyone says she’s the spitting image of me but it’s just the hair, really. I see a lot of you in her, Reggie, especially as she grows older. Sirius always says that the Black genes are strong.”

He listened intently, filing away all these scraps of knowledge about his daughter. There was so much he didn’t know. She was eleven years old… he had been away from her for eleven years. He determined to find out as much as he could, to know her and to love her and to give her the world.

“I never dared to imagine I might have a child someday,” he said softly. Fathering a child that wasn’t also Clementine’s had been unthinkable, despite the years that had passed. And any time that he might have dreamed that he would return to London one day… well, he hadn’t dared to also dream that Clementine would take him back. And the thought that she might have already borne him a child had never even crossed his mind.

“I may be biased, but our daughter is quite perfect.”

“With you as her mother, how could she not be?”

Regulus squeezed her hand, and read on.

_Harry says hi and can you get him the new Tutshill jersey next time you go to Diagon? And can you see if the book man has any new Roald Dahl? Also Amina says there’s a new hair potion out that’s meant to be even better than Sleakeazy’s (don’t tell Harry) could you get some for us to try? And can Amina and Morag and Zella come to stay during the Easter hols? Two weeks is FOREVER I think we’ll die if we don’t see each other!!_

_Anyway, tell Auntie C thanks for the chocolate cake (I did write to her but thank her anyway in case she forgot) and can I go riding with her at Easter? I’m old enough now!_

_Lots of love,  
_ _Carina_

_PS can you actually get Harry the Cannons jersey instead it’d be SO FUNNY  
_ _PPS I went to the kitchens for breakfast this morning (sorry, don’t be mad, I slept in!) but Kreacher wasn’t there, do you think he’s okay? Is there a hospital for house-elves? Dumbledore’d tell us if he was ill, right?_

Her concern for Kreacher was endearing but it was her repeated mentions of Harry and the names he didn’t recognise that drew Regulus’s attention. “Carina and Harry are close?”

“Mm,” Clementine tilted her head from side to side as she considered this question. “They can bicker an awful lot when they’re at home but they seem to seek each other out at school despite that. Perhaps it’s being forced into close proximity here, whereas they have the entire castle to be apart from one another at school. They have been raised as siblings, after all.”

“And he… he plays Seeker? I saw a trophy, in the drawing room.”

“He’s excellent. Completely fearless in the air. He’s perhaps even better than you were,” she teased. “He’s keen to try out for the Gryffindor team next year.”

“But Carina doesn’t play Quidditch?”

“No, she prefers to watch. Sirius and Remus take them quite regularly.”

“Which team does she support?”

“Whomever the Tutshill Tornadoes are playing,” she grinned. “That’s Harry’s team. His best friend Ron supports the Chudley Cannons, that’s what Carina is referencing in her letter. Fortunately for Harry, I purchased the new Tornadoes jersey for him yesterday.”

“And Amina, Morag, Zella — these are Carina’s schoolfriends?”

Clementine nodded. “Morag is in Ravenclaw with Carina. Amina’s in Hufflepuff — do you remember Rabi Khanna, Ravenclaw a few years above us?”

Regulus shook his head. Khanna didn’t ring a bell at all, but then he hadn’t had much reason to hang around with older Ravenclaw students.

“Oh, well Amina is his daughter. And Zella is in Gryffindor. It does make me proud to see our daughter make friendships across the houses.”

“But no Slytherins?” he asked, frowning.

“No, not yet… I believe this year’s bunch are particularly trying. There’s a Parkinson, a Nott, a Bulstrode… Narcissa’s boy, Draco, and his two cronies, a Crabbe and a Goyle, have taken a particular dislike to Harry.”

“Well I suppose that’s understandable,” said Regulus, though he was still frowning. _Draco_. “I didn’t realise my cousin had a child.”

“Gosh, I’m sorry. I assumed you had seen on the tapestry… yes, Draco. He was born a month or so after Carina.”

“Have you met him?”

“Only in passing in recent years. In personality, he appears to take after his father more than his mother,” she said, in what might have been an attempt at diplomacy. Regulus raised an eyebrow; favouring Lucius was _not_ how he would have preferred his cousin’s child to turn out.

“Is Draco an only child?” he asked.

“Sadly, yes. Narcissa struggled with fertility issues. She said she was pleased for me when I found out I was carrying Carina, but I could see her pain. Honestly, I was relieved when she fell pregnant too. We became ever closer as we suffered during our pregnancies and… grieving you.”

Regulus bit his lip and swallowed yet another apology. So far he had paid little thought to how his disappearance might have affected those outside of his immediate family. Cissa… she must have been distraught. He was only grateful that her grieving didn’t appear to have affected her long sought-after pregnancy.

“But you are not close now,” he said, phrasing it as a statement rather than a question.

“She was not best pleased when she discovered I had turned to Sirius after your disappearance. I think she hoped I would move to Malfoy Manor after your mother passed away but _really_ , I can’t think of anything worse even if I hadn’t reconciled with Sirius and Remus.”

“I’m glad you did,” he said, smiling at her indignant tone. “To find my brother _and_ my wife here was perhaps overwhelming, certainly unexpected, but I am very grateful.”

“I can’t believe you thought I was _with_ Sirius,” she said and screwed up her nose in disgust.

“I was merely drawing a conclusion from the facts laid out before me.”

“A foolish conclusion,” she huffed, and drew a blank sheet of parchment towards her as she began composing a response to their daughter’s letter. 


	8. procella

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I worried for Sirius, and I worried for Evan, and I hated myself for feeling glad that you weren’t still stuck in the middle of it and that I didn’t have to worry for you any more."

The afternoon passed quickly. Clementine composed a careful response to Carina’s letter, hesitating and deliberating over any and every mention of Regulus. He watched her hand move across the page — she must have finally yielded to non-smudging ink because her hand remained remarkably free of stains — and wished she didn’t feel the need to be so careful. Wished she would let him just fly up to Hogwarts and find his daughter and bring her home to sit and stare at her, to commit every feature and every movement to memory.

While his wife wrote, Regulus attempted to find some portraits of Salazar Slytherin or descriptions of any artefacts he might have had among the many weighty tomes dedicated to the wizard in his family’s library. The books were very dry, and he kept getting distracted by the scratching of Clementine’s quilland his daughter’s letter, left lying on the table.

He imagined what her voice might sound like, where she had sat when she had written that letter. In the kitchens, when she’d gone to seek food and found Kreacher missing? In her common room, perhaps? He’d never been in the Ravenclaw common room but Clementine had; she’d said it was filled with books and telescopes and that the ceiling was painted with stars not unlike the Great Hall. Could his daughter see _his_ star from her common room as well as the top of the Astronomy Tower?

As daylight faded to dusk the pile of sandwiches and cakes on the platter Kreacher had brought them gradually grew smaller. The house-elf replaced the pot of tea regularly, though neither Clementine nor Regulus noticed every time, so engrossed were they in their work (or daydreaming), and eventually he came to light the candles and the fire.

Regulus left Clementine to the books and ventured back upstairs to the guest bedroom to speak with the portrait of his great-great-grandfather. Phineas’s portrait had always hung on the staircase with the rest of his ancestors, but he supposed Sirius must have tired of the crotchety old wizard’s complaining and demoted him to a less-frequented area of the house. Regulus couldn’t really blame him.

He cleared his throat and rapped on the edge of the gilt-framed portrait with his knuckles. “Phineas Nigellus? Grandfather?”

After a few moments an elderly man with dark hair shuffled into view and squinted out at him. “Has Sirius finally succumbed to a haircut or is that Regulus returned from the dead?”

“It is I, Regulus.”

Phineas Nigellus harrumphed and settled himself noisily into the green leather armchair in his portrait. Regulus waited patiently, hands clasped behind his back, while his great-great-grandfather stroked his pointed beard and looked him up and down.

“I suppose it is no terrible thing that you have returned. Your elder brother is so very disappointing, in so many different ways.”

Regulus had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. It was one thing for _him_ to insult his brother, but he’d always hated it when anyone else did. _Especially_ if that anyone else happened to be another family member. Sirius wasn’t all that bad in the grand scheme of things.

“There was something I wanted to ask you.”

“I see. Young whippersnappers only want to talk to their elders when there’s something in it for them.”

“I am thirty, Grandfather,” Regulus sighed. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt like a _whippersnapper_ , and he certainly hadn’t in the past fifteen years.

“Oh, and I suppose you think that is some _grand_ age do you? Imbued with the wisdom of your years, are you? Come back in another thirty years, boy. _No manners these days_.”

This last he muttered, and made to stand up from his chair and vacate his portrait once more.

“Grandfather,” Regulus said, raising his voice. “I apologise for my impertinence but this wasn’t a social call. I have a task and… time is of the essence.”

“Youths. Always rushing around. Very well, spit it out boy. _I_ don’t have time to sit around all day listening to _you_. Hogwarts doesn’t run itself, you know.”

And Regulus was _sure_ that Albus Dumbledore was pacing his office this very moment, waiting on tenterhooks for Phineas Nigellus to return and impart him with more pearls of wisdom from his own infamous tenure as headmaster. Most Hated Headmaster of All Time, wasn’t it?

Again, he bit back what he really wanted to say and asked Phineas about any portraits of Slytherin. The old headmaster gave him a surprisingly good account, and Regulus made some quick sketches alongside a written description: there was the locket, of course, and three rings. A signet ring, not dissimilar to the family ring Regulus himself had once worn on his right hand; a larger one with multiple bands that was perhaps in the shape of a coiled snake; and the third, with alternating emerald and jet stones inlaid in the band. All three rings were made of silver. His wand, unfortunately, wasn’t in either of the Hogwarts portraits.

Regulus thanked Phineas for his time, gave him what he hoped was a respectful bow, and left the room. It was getting late, now, and he felt the urge to do something… _frivolous_ , with Clementine, before Monday came around and they found themselves once again sharing the house with his brother and the werewolf.

Kreacher was pottering around the kitchen and was more than happy to fill a shining silver flask with his most delicious hot chocolate recipe and even provided Regulus with a rather soft tartan blanket that he was sure he had never seen before. Pleased with his spoils, Regulus traipsed back up to the library to relieve his wife of her studies.

Clementine didn’t look like she had moved since he had left her. She was poring over a dusty old copy of _Malefic Mages: Dark Deeds of Darker Wizards_ with her head propped up in her hand and a terribly sleepy look in her eyes.

“Fancy a break?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” she replied, barely concealing a yawn with the back of her hand.

“I thought we might go up onto the rooftop, for old time’s sake.” He chuckled at her incredulous expression and held up the flask. “I brought hot chocolate…”

In no time at all she had bundled herself up in one of his old green and silver striped Quidditch sweaters (he was sure it was the one from sixth year, the one he’d been wearing when he’d won the Cup and kissed her in front of everyone, right there on the pitch) and then he was holding her hand and helping to pull her up onto the windowsill and over the edge.

It was impossible to count the nights he’d spent up here. There was a flat section of grey-tiled roof nestled between the two gables of his and Sirius’s childhood bedrooms, with the attic behind and an open view of the city spread out in front. On a clear day you could see for miles if you squinted through the haze, but he’d always preferred it at night. Not for the star-gazing, because it was impossible to star-gaze with all the light pollution of the muggle city, but because cold air was good for thinking and dark skies were made for confessing secrets. He and Sirius had confessed many things to each other here as children, huddled together in the one spot in the house that no parents or portraits could reach. And then, as teenagers, he’d brought Clementine here and fallen ever deeper for her.

“I love that you still wear that old thing,” he smiled, watching as she buried her hands inside the long woolly sleeves.

“It’s warm and comfortable,” she said rather defensively. He couldn’t argue with that. And it did lovely funny things to his insides to see her in it again, with his name written across her back.

“Remember when we won the Cup?”

“Which year?” she asked innocently, though the corner of her mouth turned up and he _knew_ that she knew exactly which year he was thinking of.

“Sixth. You started a pitch invasion.”

“Alex wouldn’t speak to me for weeks afterwards. Called me a… what was it? Back-stabbing snake-sucker?”

“I always knew he had a thing for you.” _Curly-haired twonk._

“Gosh, I thought you were supposed to be observant one!” she laughed. “Alex likes _men_ , Reggie.”

“Oh.” That _was_ surprising. “Really? Well, now I feel rather silly for wasting years being jealous of him.”

“Jealous?” she grinned and knocked him with her shoulder and oh, _that was nice_.

“He always seemed to make you laugh,” he shrugged, eyes determinedly fixed on the sky above him as if he could actually see anything through all the clouds. “And you had all that time in your common room alone with him…”

“Oh yes, all that time we spent discussing boys. Mostly you, actually.”

“Me?” he said in surprise, looking back at her.

“Well I had to defend your honour when he would try and claim that _Billy Boot_ was the most handsome boy in the school, didn’t I?”

Regulus busied himself with transfiguring two pebbles into a pair of delicate china teacups so she might not see how delighted he was with that beautiful nugget of information that he definitely wouldn’t be thinking about all night instead of sleeping. The wandwork might have been unnecessarily complicated but he had always found himself wanting to show off in front of her. He filled both teacups with hot chocolate and passed one to Clementine before duplicating the blanket Kreacher had given him and draping it around her shoulders.

“May I ask you something?”

“Of course,” she replied, looking at him curiously.

“When I returned, in the drawing-room…” he trailed off and shifted uncomfortably. He’d been wanting to ask her about this ever since she’d blurted it out to him during that terrible half-argument, half-reunion they’d had, but now he had her here on the rooftop and in the quiet he couldn’t remember any of the questions or phrases he’d rehearsed and gods this was awful. “You said something… about Rabastan.”

Clementine grew very still. Her fingers were gripping tightly to her teacup and Regulus looked away, feeling something akin to shame or embarrassment. He stared at the rapidly-darkening chimneys and spires of the city, and an enormous black cloud that was rolling across the horizon. He realised he probably didn’t want to have this conversation after all.

“That wasn’t a question,” she said eventually. Quietly.

“Did he…” Regulus swallowed. He _had_ to know. “Did he _do_ anything? To you…?”

“Bash did a lot of things.” She twisted the teacup in her hands. “But he didn’t do _that_ , no.”

Regulus let out a sigh of relief. He didn’t think he could have ever forgiven himself. He didn’t think he’d have been able to stop himself from racing, somehow, to Azkaban right there and then and throttling Lestrange with his bare hands.

“You saw how your mother threw herself into mourning after your father’s death with… enthusiasm,” Clementine ventured after a few moments’ silence wherein Regulus imagined the many ways he would like to murder Rabastan Lestrange. “She expected the same of me, following the confirmation of your passing. Incidentally, the tapestry — that was you?”

He inclined his head and took a sip of hot chocolate. It had taken an awful lot of experimental charm work to deceive the tapestry and he’d been quite desolate at being unable to share it with the Queen of Charms herself.

“Right. We shall return to that later — Carina has some strong ideas about restoring her uncle and aunt’s portraits. But, your mother took some sort of macabre delight in filling my wardrobe with black crepe and jet. I always hated wearing dark colours. I looked like a ghost.”

“I thought you looked beautiful.”

She looked at him sharply. _Ah_.

“The funeral photographs, in the _Prophet_ ,” he hurried to explain. “I found them in the library.”

“Oh. I never saw them… Walburga thought I should wear a weeping veil to match hers. Thankfully Cissa intervened, explaining that if I too wore a full-length veil then people might assume we were experiencing the same level of grief.”

Regulus huffed at this unlikely scenario.

“She _did_ grieve for you, Reggie.”

He doubted it. His mother would not have grieved for _him_ — how well had she known him, really? Had she ever taken the time to talk with him, to think of him as a human being with likes and dislikes and feelings and thoughts about the world rather than just a vessel for her family legacy?

No. His mother might have grieved for her son, for (whom she considered to be) the last male in a line that could be traced back through centuries. For what he stood for, but not for who he was.

“I dressed solely in black and wore a veil at all times for a year and a day, as etiquette demands. As far as your mother knew, I only left the house to accompany her to your graveside each Sunday afternoon. But Bash has never been one to care for etiquette.”

“That is quite the understatement,” said Regulus, raising an eyebrow.

“Bash didn’t care that I was in mourning. He didn’t care that the veil and the clothing was supposed to signify my grief and chastity and piety — in fact, I think he quite _enjoyed_ that. I think he liked the idea of seducing the vulnerable young widow.”

Regulus was gripping his teacup so hard it was in danger of smashing. That slimy _bastard._ Ever since Rabastan’s mute brother had married Regulus’s own _insane sadistic terrifying_ cousin he’d started strutting around the school like he owned the place. He was a flirt, a _predator_ , and he’d wanted to kill him every damn time he’d made Clementine laugh. Regulus had been an idiot, back in fifth year, not to have stepped in sooner… he should have ended him then, for once and for all. At least now all the Lestranges were languishing in Azkaban, far away from Clementine.

She slowly prised the teacup from his grip and squeezed his hand with her own.

“He called on me often. He sent me letters and flowers —”

“You hate being sent flowers,” he grumbled. _Bastard_. He didn’t know her _at all_ and thought he could win her over with fucking _flowers_? How pedestrian.

“I know. You know that, but he didn’t. He sent many flowers, and sweets, and pieces of jewellery.”

“It was not his place to do that!” he shouted.

“ _I know_. Are you going to allow me to finish?”

Chastised, Regulus muttered an apology and gripped Clementine’s hand between both of his as he stared straight ahead, his eyes as dark as the gathering storm clouds.

“He tried to corner me alone in the house whenever there was a gathering. Sometimes he’d call alone, too, and try to take me out but your mother was horrified at his lack of manners, respect, and courtesy. Narcissa too. They rallied and managed to keep him away for the most part. Your mother said that I was a Black now, and that she would not be so stupid as her brother had been to lose a Black to a Lestrange. It’s possibly the nicest thing she ever said to me.”

“That’s possibly the nicest thing she ever said to _anyone_ ,” Regulus confessed.

“The war was brutal, on both sides. Sirius wanted me to leave this house and go into hiding with him but I knew it would be safer to stay. I feared that the Dark Lord was suspicious about your death and what I knew of it, and I _knew_ that Bella was. I didn’t want to risk them finding out where I was, and punishing Sirius for it… I’d been questioned, but I assume that I was so engulfed in grief that he couldn’t make out anything else in my mind. But still I worried for Sirius, and I worried for Evan, and I hated myself for feeling _glad_ that you weren’t still stuck in the middle of it and that I didn’t have to worry for you any more. And then I didn’t have to worry about Evan any more, because he was dead too. Too many people died. Good people, on both sides. As each scrap of news reached our ears I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry; your mother frequently did both, simultaneously.”

She paused to pull the blanket closer around her shoulders and took a deep breath. He shouldn’t have brought this up. It was unfair of him to ask her to relive it. He didn’t deserve to know what she had been through because he had left her and abandoned her to it. It was his fault. All of it, his fault.

“And then came Hallowe’en, 1981,” she continued. “James and Lily Potter died. The Dark Lord vanished. A few days after that, Sirius was arrested. It was impossible to get hold of any reliable information: the _Prophet_ was publishing multiple issues a day, each one sounding more and more fantastical. Rumours flew. Cissa spent a lot of time with us. She was terrified, we all were. And a few days after that… you have heard why Bash is in Azkaban? And Bella and Barty and Roddy?”

He nodded. “The Longbottoms.”

“It was _awful_ , Reggie,” she whispered, staring at him with wide, frightened eyes. “I didn’t know they were capable of such things. Bella and Roddy, maybe… but little Barty? Even Bash… I felt sick. Frank and Alice were _good_ people. Kind, generous, brave. They don’t deserve this… _nobody_ deserves something like that. And they have a child, too, Neville, the same age as Carina and Harry. Imagine what he has to live with, knowing what happened to his parents?”

She choked back a sob and he put his arm around her, pulling her closer and wishing he could take away her sadness. Wishing he could go back in time because maybe if he’d stuck around he could have prevented this… he’d been close with Barty, too close for comfort with Bella… perhaps they would have told him what they were planning. Perhaps he could have warned the Longbottoms somehow, and prevented it all from happening. And perhaps Neville would still have parents who could talk to him.

“And,” she sniffed. “And I hated that a tiny, _awful_ part of me was _glad_ it had happened because it meant that Bash and Bella were taken away and I would never have to see them again.”

There was a low rumbling sound in the distance and a splash of rain hit Regulus’s hand but he didn’t notice. He didn’t notice as the rain grew heavier, fat droplets splashing on his hands and his head and the blanket haphazardly covering him. The rain drummed against the roof tiles and the thunder grew louder but still he held her close, his head resting against hers, as his mind and his heart churned in turmoil.

“I’m sorry,” he eventually managed to choke out.

“Reggie,” she whispered, and reached out a hand to cup his face. She felt warm against his cold, wet skin. _When had it started raining?_

“No, Clementine,” he said, moving his head so he might look at her. “I’m filled with this _unbearable_ guilt and I’m just so sorry for everything I’ve put you through, and everything I didn’t put you through but that still happened to you and that I could have stopped happening if only I’d been by your side. I made a promise to you, and I made vows to you, and I broke them all. And I don’t know how you can still bear to look at me because fuck knows _I_ can’t bear to look at me any more.”

She stared at him, and the rain grew heavier. It was soaking his hair and he could feel it dripping down his nose and he must look pathetic. He _was_ pathetic.

“I don’t for one second believe that you did anything with any ill-intention towards me,” she said, now moving her hands to clasp both sides of his face. “I don’t entirely _understand_ why you left or why you only came back now… but I accept your explanations and I know that you would never set out to hurt me.”

“But I did hurt you.”

“You had to make a terrible choice. And truthfully, Reggie, I am _happy_ you weren’t here. I wouldn’t wish anyone to have lived through the end of that war. Least of all the man I love.”

She was too good for him. Too good for this world.

He didn’t know if his face was wet from tears or rain or both, but he knew that he loved the way she was looking at him and he loved the feel of her hands on his face and he loved that she still somehow, _miraculously_ , loved him. And he loved her. He loved her with every bone and vein and sinew and he had to take this chance. He _had to_ , because what if the Dark Lord returned before he had chance to kill him for good? What if he returned and demanded what he had been denied? What if the Dark Lord stole his Clementine away from him?

His heart was hammering as fast as the raindrops falling on the rooftop and he seized all that courage that she had once said was inside him and closed the gap between them, he pressed his lips to hers and they were just as soft as he had remembered. She was soft and warm and _his_ and it was alright, it was all going to be alright because she was his and he was hers but then, _oh gods no_ , she gasped and not in a good way. Regulus withdrew quickly and opened his eyes to find panic reflected back at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said hurriedly. She felt rigid in his arms but her hands were still on his face and that was good, wasn’t it? Merlin’s saggy left bollock he was a _fucking idiot_.

“We oughtn’t be out on a rooftop in a thunderstorm,” she said finally in a quiet, sad voice.

“Right. No. Of course,” he said stiffly. He picked up their abandoned teacups and might as well have thrown them off the bloody roof for all the good they’d done but no, he was brought up better than that. He transformed them back into the pebbles they had once been and helped Clementine climb down and step back through the window like the gentleman he was.

“You ought to sleep in here tonight,” she said, looking around his childhood bedroom. Her hair was wet and she was shivering and she pulled the sodden blanket tighter around her shoulders and obviously he was an idiot for thinking they could just have a nice evening on the rooftop, like old times, without a fucking thunderstorm and his stupid fucking _urges_ ruining everything.

“Right. Yes. I’ll sleep in here. If that’s what you want,” he sighed, and folded his arms across his chest.

“Yes.”

“Alright then.”

“Yes. Well. Goodnight, Regulus.”

“Goodnight, Clementine.”

And she left him there, dripping on the carpet like a useless fucking moron.

 


	9. paenitentia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And then what, the inferi attacked you?”
> 
> “I went too close to the lake in which they were dwelling. In my defence, I was rather thirsty.”

The rushing, churning sound of hot water pouring forth from the taps and filling up the bath didn’t do much to drown out the noise in Clementine’s head, but it was a start.

She had discarded the sodden blanket and that wretched old Quidditch jumper and began to peel off her dripping clothes. The thunderstorm had come on quickly, like storms in spring tend to do, or perhaps she had just failed to notice the dark clouds forming overhead. She had failed to notice the fat raindrops too, falling and falling and soaking through all the layers of her clothing right through to her skin. Because if she had noticed she might have thought to cast an Impervius Charm or conjure an umbrella. She hadn’t noticed much of anything, really; she had been too occupied with terrible memories of the war and with Regulus’s rather lovely face.

Until he had kissed her and she had panicked.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t _wanted_ to kiss him back. In fact, she might have done just that if he hadn’t darted away from her and apologised and her stupid mouth hadn’t started blurting about the dangers of thunderstorms instead of just bloody kissing him back.

And now she was here, hiding in the bathroom and wishing very much that she was back on the rooftop with him.

She turned towards the mirror. Her reflection was just visible through the steam and condensation caused by the bathwater: a blurred water-logged ghost of a reflection. She raised a trembling hand to her lips and traced the memory of Regulus’s kiss. He’d been soft and warm. He’d tasted like chocolate. And guilt.

Eventually she turned away and stepped into the ancient cast iron bathtub. She could (and had) spend hours here, soaking in milky potions and herbal infusions and towering bubbles made from sweet-smelling perfumes. But tonight the bath was filled with clear, plain, scalding hot water because that was what she needed to scrub away past memories and present regret.

Clementine lowered herself into the steaming water and drew her knees up to her chest, she hugged them tightly and buried her head in her arms and she cried. Her straggly wet hair fell down her back like seaweed and floated in the water around her. Despite the heat and steam of the bath she shook, her entire body echoing with curses inflected a decade ago.

Later that night, Clementine knelt in the middle of her bedroom and lifted a loose floorboard concealed beneath the rug. She took a small vial of purple liquid from a secret stash she kept hidden there and gave herself a dose of Dreamless Sleep for the first time in years. _Just this once_ , she promised, _I’ll only need it tonight._

* * *

 

 

There was no sign of Regulus all morning. Clementine lingered in the kitchen after breakfast, until the tea had gone cold and a thin layer of sediment had formed at the bottom of her fruit juice. Kreacher, looking disconcertingly sympathetic, informed her that the Master had risen very early and had already eaten. She nodded and went to see if he might be in the library; but it was empty and their notes from the day before had vanished from the table. Kreacher said that the Master had decided to work in his bedroom today. Something about needing peace and quiet. Clementine nodded again and asked if they had received any post today. It was almost certainly too soon to receive a reply from her daughter, but she would check anyway, just in case. There had been no post.

The first sign of life came around lunchtime, with the familiar _whoosh_ of the fireplace from downstairs and the soft tread of footsteps on the staircase that could only belong to Remus. The Black brothers always made their presence known: Sirius would stomp around in his heavy boots and Regulus… well, he wasn’t _loud_ , but if footsteps could be called authoritative then that’s exactly what Regulus’s were. Clementine waited a moment, pretending to finish reading an utterly uninteresting article about the Wimbourne Wasps’ new manager in the Sports section of the _Prophet_ , and followed Remus upstairs.

He had left his bedroom door ajar, and when she knocked on the wooden doorframe he glanced up from the pile of clothing he was sorting through to wave her in.

“Hello darling,” she forced herself to smile and gave him a kiss on the cheek in greeting. “How was your weekend? Were you working this morning?”

“It’s Romilda’s birthday today so she has been excused from her usual lessons. I stayed at the cottage a little while longer — the garden has grown wildly out of control and unfortunately Sirius wasn’t much help, he can’t tell his nettles from his nightshade the poor sod. We spent most of the weekend at the beach instead.”

“Isn’t it a bit cold for the beach?” she asked, and curled up in the large armchair beneath the window.

“Padfoot enjoys the sea,” he shrugged. “And how have you and Regulus been getting on?”

“Hmm,” she hummed. She watched as he sorted through his suitcase, re-folding some pieces of clothing to place back into his wardrobe and separating others into a pile for washing, as she considered his question. “Good, at times. Terrible at others.” _Like last night._

“Terrible at times is better than terrible the whole time,” he pointed out.

“I suppose.” She shifted slightly in the armchair so she could gaze out of the window while she spoke. “I went to see Cassiopeia on Saturday. She didn’t seem all that surprised that he had come home, and told me that I shouldn’t let a mistake he made as a teenager ruin the rest of both our lives.”

“What he did isn’t an easy thing to forgive.”

“No,” she sighed. “But then, she did preface that by calling all the men of the family stubborn and foolish but unlikely to repeat a mistake.”

Remus chuckled. “From my limited experience with the Black family, I’d wager she’s not wrong.”

“I do want to forgive him. I think. Sometimes it’s very easy, like none of it ever happened and we’re back to how we were when we were sixteen and the biggest thing I had to worry about was passing my exams. It’s those damned cheekbones.”

“The Black cheekbones should be illegal,” he agreed. “But forgiveness takes time; Merlin knows Sirius and I have had to work on it. But it will come, if you let it. Hello, what’s this?”

Clementine looked away from the window and saw Remus peering into the black and gold Twilfitt and Tattings box she’d brought back from her last shopping trip. She attempted to feign innocence under his raised eyebrow and disapproving look but nothing got past Remus Lupin.

“It’s just dress robes for you and Sirius. They’re not _matching_ , don’t look at me like that!”

“I’m not looking at you like anything,” he lied. “We already have dress robes, you don’t need to go spending your money on things like this.”

“Your dress robes are _ancient_ —”

“They’re three years old at the most.”

“As I said, _ancient_. They’re a gift, Remus. I saw them and thought you would look rather handsome in them so I bought them.”

Remus grumbled and slid the box onto the top of the wardrobe, still unopened. There was a cough from the doorway and they both turned around, a little too quickly, at the noise. Clementines fingers gripped onto the arm of the chair when she saw Regulus standing there, his face perfectly smooth and devoid of all emotion as if he hadn’t kissed her in the middle of a thunderstorm mere hours ago.

“Lupin. I see you have returned.”

“Hello, Regulus,” Remus said smoothly, folding his arms across his chest and turning to face the newcomer.

“I would appreciate if you could both convene in Fa— in _my_ study this evening as there is something I wish to discuss. Shall we say six o’clock?”

“Alright,” agreed Remus. Clementine nodded, eyes wide.

“And if one of you would be so kind as to inform my brother?”

“You’ll be at the Ministry this afternoon, won’t you?” Remus said to Clementine. She nodded again. “Great, you can let Sirius know.”

If Regulus was surprised to learn that his brother and his wife might both be found at the Ministry of Magic on a Monday afternoon, he didn’t show it.

“Very well. I shall leave you to… whatever it is that you are doing.”

And he turned his heel and left before Clementine, half-risen from her chair, could stop him.

“Do you and Regulus happen to be in the middle of one of those terrible times?” Remus asked, turning back to Clementine.

“I’m afraid so,” she said weakly, and sat back down. _I’ve been a fool._

 

* * *

 

 

 

Clementine wove her way across the Ministry of Magic to the Department for Magical Law Enforcement. There was a new receptionist at the front desk — Atticus Johnson, fresh out of Hogwarts and rather excited about it — and she chatted briefly with him about his thoughts on the job so far and his hopes for the future. Apparently, he was quite enamoured with _Detective Black_ already. And unaware that Sirius wasn’t technically employed by the DMLE.

Atticus let her into Department and she nodded to the few witches and wizards who weren’t too busy with their work to look up and notice her arrival. Amelia Bones, Department Head, was furiously berating someone in her office which Clementine supposed was an excellent demonstration of the benefits of sound-proof glass.

Sirius’s office (more of a cupboard, if she was being honest) was at the far end of the corridor. The smallest office, filled with plants, family photographs and haphazard stacks of paperwork. There was a lovely view of the busy London streets from the window — enchanted, of course, since the DMLE was situated far below ground level — and a noticeboard on the wall opposite that was filled with more photographs, letters and postcards than anything that resembled _work_.

Sirius himself was sitting with his feet up on the desk and leaning back rather dangerously with his chair resting on its back two legs, a document resting on his legs while he ate from a carton of some sort of noodles.

“Ah, my favourite sister!” he grinned as she entered the office. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this fine afternoon?”

“I had a meeting with Lucinda in Beasts and thought I would pop along to say hello,” she said and greeted him with her usual kiss to the cheek. He smelled strongly of chow mien. “Atticus seems sweet.”

“Bit eager. Insists on calling me _Sir_ even though I told him it makes me feel a hundred years old.”

“Not far off then.”

“Cheeky witch,” he grumbled, and set down his half-eaten noodles onto a stack of paperwork at the end of his desk. She noticed Regulus’s name on the topmost file.

“Your brother has requested that we all meet tonight, at six. In the study.”

“Ah. What does he want?”

“He didn’t say.”

“And how is… everything? At home?”

“Part of me wants to scream and throw him out of the house. Another part just wants to forgive and forget and pretend that nothing ever happened.”

“Forgiveness is a journey.”

She looked at him in surprise.

“So Moony says,” he added quickly.

“Hopefully it’s a short journey in this case,” she said quietly. “Why do you have Regulus’s file?”

“I don’t know.”

She leaned over and pulled her husband’s file from under the Chinese takeout carton. Since a body had never been recovered, his file had never received that satisfying _CASE CLOSED_ stamp in shimmering Ministry-purple ink. Instead, the same words glared up at her as they had for the past twelve years:

**_M.O.M. DEPARTMENT FOR MAGICAL LAW ENFORCEMENT_ **

**_Missing Person Report Case Number: L-41-9739_ **

**_Date Filed:_ ** _13_ _ th _ _September 1979_

**_Subject:_ ** _BLACK, Regulus Arcturus_

**_Alias(es):_ ** _None known_

Clementine felt Sirius’s eyes on her as she turned the cover of the file over. There was a thick sheet of Never-Creasing Parchment bearing the scant details of the so-called investigation into her husband’s disappearance.

**_Subject:_ ** _BLACK, Regulus Arcturus_

**_D.O.B.:_ ** _23/06/1961_

**_Blood Status:_ ** _Pure-Blood_

**_Affiliations:_ ** _Hogwarts alumnus (Slytherin House); “Death Eater”_

**_Nationality:_ ** _British_

**_Sex:_ ** _Male_

**_Height:_ ** _5’10”_

**_Physical Characteristics:_ ** _slim build; dark hair; grey eyes; fair complexion_

**_Last Known Clothing:_ ** _black trousers, black turtleneck sweater; plain yellow gold wedding band_

**_Distinguishing Features:_ ** _“Dark Mark” on left forearm (see figure 1.2)_

_Regulus Black was last seen by his wife Clementine Black (née Macmillan) at approximately 16:45 on 10_ _ th _ _September 1979 at their home in Ripley, Surrey. Mrs Black returned home at approximately 23:15 that evening to find Mr Black unexpectedly absent._

_Mr Black has not been in contact with his wife, family members, or known associates since the date of his disappearance._

_This Department has received sufficient evidence to conclude that Mr Black is a member of the criminal group styling themselves the “Death Eaters”. Evidence lacking regarding Mrs Black’s involvement. Mrs Black denies all knowledge of Mr Black’s criminal activities._

_This Department advises that Mr Black be considered DECEASED. Cause of death likely related to “Death Eater” activity._

_No further investigation is necessary at this time._

Labelled _deceased_ after an investigation that lasted longer than a week. An investigation led by a barely-qualified graduate. Of course, she knew that they were busy. Of course, Clementine knew (or thought she knew) what had really happened — but it was the _principle_ of the thing. They assumed that Regulus was a Death Eater so they assumed that he didn’t deserve any of the resources the Ministry had at its disposal. They assumed that he didn’t deserve to have people look for him, whether he was dead or alive.

“He was just a kid.”

Clementine looked down at Sirius. He’d slid a photograph out of the file, the most recent one of Regulus she could find in that whirlwind of a visit she’d had to the cottage from the DMLE. It was his graduation portrait: a gentle breeze was ruffling his hair and his dark robes as he held his pointed hat and gave the merest hint of a smile to the camera.

“We were all too young to be involved in a war,” she said softly.

“I should have done more. I should have stuck it out at home or, or dragged him with me to the Potters’ or something.”

“You would have died if you’d stayed there. And he would never have gone with you.”

“I should have kept in contact with him,” Sirius continued, as if he hadn’t heard her speak. “Let him know that he had a choice, that I would have helped him if he’d only bloody told me that he wanted out. _You_ knew that, you came to me for help. Why didn’t he?”

“He didn’t want to put you in any more danger than you were already in.”

“I fought against him, did you know that?”

Clementine nodded and looked back down to the slim file that was the sum total of the investigation into her husband’s disappearance. She’d heard all about the brothers’ altercations from Regulus’s side; had comforted him and healed his wounds as best she could upon his return. He had never been able to raise his wand against Sirius. Not even in self defence.

“How am I meant to look him in the eye after everything I’ve done to him, Clem?”

“You saved my life, and my daughter’s life,” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. “If I can forgive him for leaving me, he can forgive you for leaving him.”

“Can you, though? Forgive him?”

“I’m working on it. Someone once told me that forgiveness is a journey.”

He gave her a sad smile and tucked the photograph back into the file, then hid the file in amongst the others on his desk.

“Right,” he sighed, grabbing his leather jacket from a hook on the wall. “Let’s go see what the little git wants.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

They found Remus sat in a large comfortable armchair in the study, the _Prophet_ folded over to the puzzle page and resting on his crossed legs. Clementine took a perch on the arm of his chair and glanced down, unsurprised to find that he’d almost completed the crossword and there was very little she could have suggested an answer for anyway. Sirius crossed to the window and leaned against the sill, picking at his nails with a feigned air of nonchalance.

At precisely one minute to eight o’clock Regulus strode into the room, Kreacher at his heels. Her heart skipped when she realised he was wearing one of the shirts she had bought for him; a classic, white, slim-fitting one, not one of the over-sized large collared monstrosities that seemed to be the fashion these days. They made men look like they were children dressing in their fathers’ clothing. Not this shirt, not on Regulus. He looked _lovely_ , and she had to make a concerted effort not to stare at the way the fabric smoothed across his shoulders. It would look even better with the sleeves turned up, but she knew he wouldn’t do that. Not while he was still horrified by the stain on his left forearm.

“In 1977, the Dark Lord gathered his followers and demanded the use of a house-elf,” said Regulus, apparently not feeling the need for any preamble. He was stood beside his father’s desk (his desk now), his hands held behind his back, and though he was the youngest and the smallest man in the room, with that commanding tone he seemed without question the oldest _and_ the tallest.

“I, having been recently Marked,” he continued, “thought it a prudent way to cement my position and offered Kreacher here for the task.”

Regulus clasped Kreacher on the shoulder and the house-elf looked up at his Master with round, fearful eyes. Clementine’s heart reached out for the poor thing, knowing what he had suffered as a result of Regulus’s desperation to hide his true feelings from the Dark Lord.

“It was a decision I count among my greatest mistakes. I ordered Kreacher to complete whatever mission the Dark Lord might have for him and then to return to me; he did, though it was a terrible struggle. I was horrified to witness the fate I had subjected my dear friend to.”

Clementine glanced over to Sirius, nervous that he might snort with laughter or make a disparaging comment about _ickle Reggie’s friend_ , but his eyes were merely narrowed in concentration as he listened to his brother’s story.

“Kreacher informed me of a cave, impossible to reach without magic. Of a blood offering necessary to gain entrance and an enchanted boat leading to an island in the middle of a lake. On that island, a font and a potion that glowed green. The Dark Lord commanded Kreacher to drink that potion; it would give him terrible pain, bring forth the most harrowing memories, and imbue him with an unquenchable thirst. At the bottom of this font was a locket. The Dark Lord refilled the potion and left, assuming Kreacher would perish. But Kreacher came home.”

The house-elf was weeping now, fat silent tears rolling down his wrinkled face. Clementine leaned forwards to pass him a handkerchief but Kreacher recoiled and huddled closer to Regulus, wrapping his long bony fingers around his Master’s leg. Regulus, meanwhile, produced the locket and laid it on the desk for Remus and Sirius to see.

“This,” he said. “Was the locket in that cave. It was a horcrux.”

Sirius stepped towards the desk and grabbed the locket, turning it over in his hands as he inspected it.

“A… horcrux, you said?” Remus repeated.

“A vessel to hold a fragment of one’s soul and therefore render one immortal.”

“A… ah. Hmm.”

“You’re saying Voldemort’s soul is inside this necklace?” Sirius asked quickly, looking at the locket with a mixture of horror and amazement.

“ _Was_ ,” Regulus corrected. “I destroyed it.”

“You destroyed a piece of Voldemort’s soul? _You_?”

“Yes, brother. No need to sound so surprised.”

“How?” asked Remus.

“Basilisk venom,” Regulus said, tearing his eyes away from Sirius. “The vessel must be damaged beyond all means of repair for the horcrux to be destroyed. Fiendfyre might also work.”

“You think there are more of these horcruxes?”

“Yes.”

“And they need to be destroyed before Voldemort can be killed. Properly killed.”

“Yes.”

“And that’s why you came back.”

“Yes.”

Remus leaned back in his chair and regarded Regulus with a thoughtful expression. Clementine could almost see the wheels turning in his mind as he tried to decide what to do with this information. She glanced nervously between the three frowning men and the house-elf.

“Hang on a minute,” Sirius said eventually, placing the locket back on the desk. “How did you even get this? Did Kreacher steal it?”

“No. I did.”

“ _What_? When?”

“In September 1979. I asked Kreacher to show me the cave that the Dark Lord had taken him to and I switched the horcrux locket with a fake.”

“That’s when… that’s when we all thought you’d _died_.”

“He almost did,” Clementine said in a quiet voice, staring at Regulus. “The lake was filled with inferi.”

“ _What?_ ” Remus and Sirius exclaimed simultaneously. Regulus rubbed the back of his neck.

“Wait, you drank that potion? That nightmare potion?” Sirius asked.

“Yes.”

“And then what, the inferi attacked you?”

“I went too close to the lake in which they were dwelling. In my defence, I was rather thirsty.”

“You were… _fuck_ , Reg.” Sirius looked as if he wanted to either punch his brother or embrace him, but settled on running his fingers through his hair and chewing on his nails instead.

“And then what happened?” Remus pressed.

“Kreacher brought me to safety.”

“And you just disappeared?”

“I thought my disappearance would be the best way to keep my wife from any harm that might befall her as a result of my actions,” Regulus replied, looking at Clementine for the first time. She gave him a sad smile and he looked away again.

“That was bloody stupid of you,” Sirius muttered.

“Yes. Another of my great mistakes.”

“And how sure are you? That there are more of these horcruxes?” Remus asked.

“I have been reliably informed that the Dark Lord never truly died the night that he murdered James and Lily Potter.”

Clementine placed her hand on Remus’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze as she felt him tense beside her; Sirius began pacing up and down the room.

“Because I only succeeded in destroying _one_ horcrux, the other parts of the Dark Lord’s soul enabled him to survive the backfired Killing Curse,” Regulus continued. “There have been rumours of some sort of presence possessing the bodies of small animals in Albania, which I believe was the Dark Lord seeking a new corporeal form. Unfortunately, this presence hasn’t been sighted since last summer.”

“What?” gasped Clementine; this was news to her.

“Do you know where he is now?” asked Remus.

“Unfortunately not.”

“Do you know how many other horcruxes there are?”

“We suspect there to be seven fragments of soul in total.”

“You _suspect_ … do you know _what_ any of the others are?”

“No. But we’re working on it.”

“Who else knows about this?”

“No one outside of this room.”

“Fuck.”

“Quite.”

Sirius strode over to the sideboard and yanked the door open. He pulled out a glass and a crystal decanter filled with a transparent brown liquid and poured himself a healthy measure. He drank it down in one, and refilled his glass. Clementine saw Kreacher hurry over and hover at his elbow, wringing his hands and clearly wanting to intervene; she gently distracted him by taking him upstairs under the pretence of requiring some assistance getting Carina and Harry’s rooms ready for their return from school. Reassurance in domesticity.

Remus followed them from the room, murmuring something about needing a cup of tea.

Once they had disappeared from view, Sirius marched back over to his younger brother.

“You are _not_ getting her involved in all this again, Reg,” he hissed, jabbing his finger at Regulus. “I thought it had killed you last time. It almost killed _her_. I’ll help, but you leave Clementine out of it.”

“That is not your decision to make, brother. Clementine understands the dangers that this involves. Better than you, I imagine.”

“ _You leave her out of this_.”

“My wife has her own mind,” Regulus said coldly, turning to leave the room. “And _she_ will decide if and how she wants to be involved in this. Not you.”


	10. knockturn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Merlin, Sirius!” she grabbed his arm, her heart racing. “What if he took something else of hers too? That goblin armour Caractacus wanted, or Hufflepuff’s cup, or something else? Would you be able to find out? Would there be records, at the DMLE?”

The days seemed to fly by in a whirl of thick books, emerald-hued floo powder, and diverted glances.

Remus was kept busy tutoring Romilda (who had been rather difficult to manage the day after her birthday; sugar crashes due to excessive birthday cake consumption were certainly not conducive to a good teaching environment), the Peakes boys, and little Ambrose Fawley. Sirius flitted in and out of the house, half because he actually had work to do and half because he couldn’t stand the tense atmosphere. Clementine had teas and luncheons and appointments that had to be kept lest suspicion be aroused that she was hiding her long-dead husband in that big old house — or so she told herself.

Evenings (and Regulus’s daytimes) were for horcrux research. Remus and Regulus were well-suited for combing through old books and seemed to be developing a tentative friendship which Clementine would have been less melancholic about if her own relationship with Regulus hadn’t taken such a sudden nosedive.

She wasn’t having as much fun in the library as she thought she might have. It felt like being back at school, the way she felt scared to even whisper to them in case she disturbed them from their work. She half-expected Irma Pince to come crawling out of a bookcase and slap her with a detention for not respecting the _sanctity of the_ _library_. She didn’t know where to sit — when she sat next to Regulus she could almost feel the anger radiating off him, and when she sat opposite him she found herself looking at him far more frequently than the books she was supposed to be reading. She’d retreat to the window seat more often than not, where Kreacher would keep her in supply of freshly-baked scones and strawberry jam.

Sirius was having even less fun than Clementine. Sitting still for hours on end, reading dusty old books, making meticulous notes… none of these were things that Sirius Black found easy or enjoyable. He would yawn loudly, lean back in his chair, jiggle his leg underneath the table, tap his quill against his mug of tar-like coffee and generally drive his brother and his boyfriend quite mad. Clementine didn’t mind it so much: it made for an interesting diversion from her daydreams. Day _mares_?

Eventually, Regulus had had enough. He slammed his book closed and fixed Sirius with their father’s glare until he was sitting perfectly still, on all four chair legs, with just the ghost of a smirk across his face.

“You’re clearly bored,” Regulus said, and you could _hear_ the roll of his eyes in his voice. “Why don’t you do something useful and go and conduct some fieldwork instead?”

“Fieldwork?”

“Yes. Go to Borgin and Burkes and the auction houses. See if you can track down any of Slytherin’s items while we work on the Dark Lord’s ancestry.”

“Excellent idea, Regulus,” Remus said, his head snapping up from his note-taking. “Take Clementine too.”

“Me?”

“You’re well-respected, especially among _those_ circles. They’ll listen to your questions, show you things they keep hidden away in the back room — stop smirking Padfoot, that wasn’t a euphemism — and, well, they know you have the money to buy some ridiculously overpriced heirloom, the house to keep it in and enough social clout that everyone _else_ who has money will want to know where you got it from.”

“Just try not to spend _every_ galleon in my vault,” Regulus said coolly.

“Back to your vault again, is it?”

He didn’t look at her, merely raised an eyebrow and turned back to his book.

“ _I’ll_ pay for everything if it’ll stop Reggie getting his knickers in a twist,” Sirius said, taking Clementine by the shoulders and steering her out of the library. “We’ll be back late, don’t wait up for us!” 

 

* * *

 

Diagon Alley was busy with witches and wizards hoping to complete all their purchases before the weekend, but Sirius expertly steered Clementine away from the dazzling, distracting window displays and down the shadowy passage that led to Knockturn Alley.

It was quieter, here. So many years had passed since the war but there were still families who were too anxious to show their faces on the infamous street, fearful that the gossip mongers would set to work and tar their name with slurs of _Death Eater_ and _blood purist._ It was all nonsense, of course. Not every wizard who set foot in Knockturn Alley was Dark; sometimes they were just in search of an obscure potion ingredient or wanting advice on a legal matter that might be something of a… grey area.

As for the Blacks, _well_. The war hadn’t been able to completely tarnish their name, especially once news of Sirius’s injudicious incarceration began to spread. And with Clementine’s philanthropic donations to advocacy groups for muggle-borns, squibs, house-elves, lycanthropes and more, _and_ the fact that they were housing the Boy-Who-Lived… no one would dare sully their family name these days.

The bell above the black-painted door tinkled as Sirius pushed it open and Clementine slipped inside the dark, musty-smelling shop. The elderly shopkeeper materialised almost immediately and greeted them with a bow that dipped so low Clementine worried he might never be able to straighten up again.

“Ah, Mrs Black, it has been too long my dear, too long…” he shuffled over to her and kissed her hand in greeting. She tried not to flinch at the touch of his wet lips and scratchy whiskers, disturbing as she found the sensation. Sirius appeared to not be affected by the wizard’s disregard of him; he was used to it. These elderly pureblooded wizards could hold grudges for a lifetime. Longer, judging by some of the family portraits. And besides, he was far more interested in perusing the barely-legal wares than chatting to a dusty old shopkeeper.

“Indeed it has, Mr Burke,” Clementine smiled, mustering up all her years of practice of being polite and accommodating. “I hope business is treating you well?”

“Very well, yes my dear. Although I am sure there are more than a few _objets_ rattling around in that grand house of yours that my customers would be very interested in… why, Mr Malfoy was just the other day inquiring about a certain music box that I know your great-great-grandfather once commissioned…”

“My great-great-grandfather- _in-law_ ,” she corrected.

“Yes, of course… I don’t suppose that is why you have come to see me, my dear?”

“Unfortunately not, Mr Burke. I have come to see you for the business of buying, not selling.”

If old Caractacus Burke had been disappointed to know that he would yet again fail to get his hands on some of those priceless Black treasures he hid it well. Perhaps the prospect of Black galleons instead was reward enough.

“This summer will mark the thirteenth anniversary of my husband’s passing.”

“My deepest condolences as ever, Mrs Black… your husband was taken from us too soon, far too soon… such a bright young man…”

“Thank you. It would have been our thirteenth wedding anniversary, too. I was hoping to mark the occasion by purchasing something I could pass down to my daughter for her to remember her father by. Perhaps a piece of jewellery? As you know, my husband was a fiercely proud Slytherin and Carina has mentioned a few rings Salazar is wearing in a portrait up at the school?”

“Rings… hmm… I don’t recall…” Caractacus Burke said ponderously. “I can have my assistant look through the archives. But Slytherin’s locket… _that_ I did once have in my possession.”

“You had his locket? Here, in this shop?”

Sirius glared at her from across the room but Mr Burke didn’t notice the consternation in her voice, too engrossed was he in the memory of one of his greatest deals.

“I did indeed… many years ago now, a young witch came to see me. Bedraggled little thing, and with child, out of wedlock I expect. Said she desperately needed the gold and handed me Slytherin’s locket… don’t expect she knew what it was, silly girl. I gave her ten galleons for it and sent her on her way. Exquisite piece it was… gold that could never tarnish, studded with sparkling emeralds… sold it for thousands, in the end.”

“How… shrewd of you, Mr Burke,” Clementine said, struggling to keep her voice steady and calm. “I don’t suppose you happen to remember who purchased the locket? Another proud member of Slytherin house, I expect?”

“Oh no, it was Hepzibah Smith. One of my very best customers… such a shame she passed away before I could take that goblin-made armour off her hands. Poisoned by her own house-elf, perish the thought…”

“Was she really? Gosh.”

A quick glance up at Sirius confirmed that he, too, had doubts that a house-elf could ever be capable of murdering its mistress. Kreacher hadn’t yet managed to off _him_ , after all.

“Yes… Ms Smith had quite the interest in the Founders’ items, you see. Had hopes to complete the set, as it were… Hufflepuff’s cup had been in her family for generations and I knew she would pay a silly sickle for Slytherin’s locket. What a shame she had so little time to enjoy it…”

“Quite,” Clementine said shortly, suddenly feeling quite in need of some fresh air. “Well Mr Burke, I would be most obliged if you could check with your assistant regarding those rings and owl me at home if you discover anything.”

“Of course my dear… it is always a great pleasure doing business with the Black family.”

“Good day, Mr Burke.”

“Good day, Mrs Black.”

As soon as the shop door had closed behind them Clementine turned to Sirius with wide eyes. “Do you think —”

“Not here,” he said gruffly, and took her elbow to pull her into a shadowy corner. He looked back over both his shoulders before casting a _muffliato_ charm and leaning in closer, in case anyone undesirable happened to be lurking nearby and attempting to eavesdrop on them.

“It wasn’t the house-elf, was it? Do you think _he_ killed her? To get the locket?” she whispered.

“I don’t know,” he whispered back, brow creasing in thought. “We know he got it eventually.”

“Perhaps that’s the… _murder_ he committed to _make_ the you-know-what. _Merlin_ , Sirius!” she grabbed his arm, her heart racing. “What if he took something else of hers too? That goblin armour Caractacus wanted, or Hufflepuff’s cup, or something else? Would you be able to find out? Would there be records, at the DMLE?”

“If she had an inventory of her assets logged with Gringotts or her solicitor, and if there was an investigation into her death, then there should be a record of it in the DMLE. If it exists, I should be able to access it,” he said thoughtfully, gaze fixed on a tattered advertisement for a boil cure pasted on the wall above Clementine’s head. When he looked back at her, his grey eyes were dancing with excitement. “Let’s go!”

“Right now?”

He grabbed her arm in response and within minutes they had apparated across London, entered the Ministry, and were striding down the Law Enforcement corridor.

“Mrs Black! Hello again!”

“Oh, good afternoon Atticus,” she smiled distractedly at the young receptionist who had leapt from his seat the moment he saw them arrive. “How are you getting on? Still enjoying the job?”

“Yes, excellent! Very much, thanks for asking! Can I get you anything, Mrs Black?”

“A cup of tea would be lovely, if you don’t mind. No milk, just a spoonful of honey stirred in if you have it. And please, call me Clementine.”

She looked on, slightly bemused, as Atticus gave her a double thumbs up and darted into the little kitchen just off the reception area.

“Looks like our Atticus has a thing for an older woman,” Sirius teased as they walked through the busy department to his office.

“ _Sirius!_ ”

Her attempts at admonishing him were interrupted by the Department Head, who had paused her conversation with a co-worker to fix Sirius with a scrutinising gaze worthy of Minerva McGonagall.

“Black,” she said sharply, striding over towards them. “I wasn’t expecting you in the Department today.”

“Alright, Bones?” he replied, and inclined his head towards her. “Just popping in to look into something for my dear sister-in-law here. Won’t be long!”

Sirius continued on his way to his office, hands in his pockets and whistling a tune Clementine didn’t recognise. She greeted Amelia briefly before following after him, and found him crouched on the floor and searching through a filing cabinet when she entered his office. The only two chairs in the room were occupied with stacks of magazines and parchment so she took a tentative perch on the end of his desk and tried to make herself comfortable while she waited.

“Here you are Mrs Bla— Clementine!” Atticus beamed as he burst through the door. “Tea with honey, no milk.”

“Thank you Atticus. That’s lovely.”

“It’s no problem! Is there anything else I can get for you?”

“Oh no, that’s quite alright thank you.”

“You should probably go back to your desk now, Atticus,” Sirius said as he stood up from the filing cabinet, a bunch of papers grasped in his hand. He was smirking unabashedly at the younger man who was still hovering over Clementine.

“Yes! Of course! Well, Clementine, if there’s anything else you want, anything at all, just give me a shout and I’ll do it right away.”

“That’s very kind, Atticus.”

He gave her another thumbs up and darted back out of the office.

“Did you find it?” she asked Sirius pointedly, not wanting to give him chance to mock her _or_ Atticus if she could help it. Mercifully, it seemed he was happy enough to put his teasing aside in favour of launching straight into this latest investigation.

“I think so,” he said, gesturing to the papers in his hand. He took a spot beside her and leaned against the desk, so they might look through the report together.

“What, it was just sitting in your filing cabinet?” she asked curiously.

“Every filing cabinet in the Department is linked to the Master in the archives. You can pull up whatever you want — provided it’s not classified — without traipsing all the way down there. But that doesn’t matter, _look_ ,” he said impatiently, tapping at the topmost page.

“Hepzibah Smith…” she read. “Pure-blood witch, 87 years old. Cause of death: accidental. _Accidental?_ ”

“Law Enforcement Officers were alerted to the passing of Ms Smith by Montgomery Steward, Healer-in-Charge of the Potion and Plant Poisoning Floor at St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Ms Smith had been apparated to St Mungo’s by her house-elf Hokey. When questioned, Hokey confessed to having mistakenly put poison in Ms Smith’s customary evening cocoa thinking it was sugar,” Sirius read the second page of the document, the disbelief in his voice apparent. “This Department advises the regrettable death of Ms Smith be labelled as ACCIDENTAL due to the advanced age of her house-elf. Said house-elf will not be prosecuted, but this Department will hand over details of its care to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. No further investigation is necessary at this time.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” she frowned. “What kind of poison looks like sugar?”

“Maybe the elf was under the Imperius Curse,” Sirius shrugged. “It doesn’t say anything about what happened to her house or her belongings, or if she had any relatives to pass them on to…”

“What would have happened, if she didn’t?”

“No idea. I guess she must have made a will, but if she didn’t…” he shrugged again. “Who knows.”

“Perhaps her will was made public? Reggie might be able to find something out. We should probably head back to the house and let them know about this.”

Sirius grunted noncommittally and glanced at his watch. “There’s only an hour or so before the auction. Why don’t we go for some food and look over these a bit more first?”

She watched as he made copies of the documents and placed the originals back into the filing cabinet. He seemed reluctant to go home… perhaps he had been feeling the tense atmosphere just as much as she had. “Alright,” she agreed. “I’ll send a patronus to let them know what we found from Caractacus.”

 

* * *

 

Regulus had felt so embarrassed and awkward and irritated with himself after the Rooftop Incident (if he had detested thunderstorms before, he now loathed them with a passion to rival his hatred of the Dark Lord) that he had thrown himself into his research task in an attempt to quash his feelings for Clementine.

It was ridiculous, really, considering he had been unable to quash his feelings in the twelve years they were apart but anything was worth a try if it meant crawling out of this mess of tangled emotions.

The werewolf was turning out to be a strangely tolerable companion. So tolerable in fact that Regulus often found himself forgetting that Lupin was a werewolf at all: it was, he admitted privately, quite difficult to marry the image of a murderous man-eating monster with this mild-mannered, knitwear-clad wizard. He used _bookmarks_ , for heaven’s sake.

And Lupin was intelligent, too. Not the flashy, showing-off sort of thing that Sirius still engaged in despite his years, but in a quiet studious way that Regulus was far more comfortable being around. Together they had made excellent progress in discovering the known artefacts of dark witches and wizards and had a list of likely items to start hunting down. And while Sirius and Clementine went off in search of the artefacts that had once belonged to Salazar Slytherin, Lupin suggested that they turn their attention to the Dark Lord’s past.

“Do you know his name? His original name — I mean, I’m not as _au fait_ with the Great Wizarding Names of the 20th Century as a pureblood might be but I’m pretty certain that _Voldemort_ isn’t a genuine surname.”

Regulus stared at him, astounded that the thought had never crossed his mind before. Of course, on a subconscious level he had known that he had never been a true Lord (there was no such thing as wizarding nobility and even if there had been, the Blacks would surely have been at the top of the pecking order) and that _Voldemort_ was more of an awkward derivative than a true surname… But why had he never stopped to wonder what this maniac’s birth name might have been?

“I take it from your silence that you don’t know?” Lupin said in an annoyingly amused tone, glancing up at Regulus as he poured them both a fresh cup of tea from the giant teapot Kreacher kept refilling. “Alright, what about his schooling — did he go to Hogwarts?”

“Of course he went to Hogwarts,” Regulus frowned. What an odd question. _That_ had never been in doubt. “He was in Slytherin House!”

“And in Slytherin House, there were no whispers about what Voldemort’s true identity might be?”

“No,” he said irritably and moved to drink his tea.

“What about his age? We could perhaps look through the Hogwarts records for a likely candidate.”

“At a push, I would say that he was around the same age as my parents,” he sighed. _Merlin_ , did he know anything about the Dark Lord at all? “Although of course his appearance was… somewhat unusual, so it is hard to say exactly.”

“His appearance?”

“You never saw him?” Regulus asked in surprise.

“Never. He always sent his lackeys to do his dirty work.”

Regulus ignored the slight (because truly, _lackey_ was a more than appropriate way to describe the majority of his former colleagues) and sighed again. “He was tall, dark haired, very pale, and had permanent bloodshot eyes. Perhaps he had been handsome once, but by the time I had joined his ranks his skin had taken on this odd quality… almost like the wax of a softened candle. Bella always said that his unusual appearance was due to his deep and unrivalled connection to the Dark Arts and I must admit that she may have had a point.”

“Unusual indeed,” Lupin replied, quirking an eyebrow as he scratched down some notes onto his parchment. “And you would guess that he was around the same age as your parents; shame they aren’t still around, they might have had some interesting insight.”

“Yes, such a shame,” he monotoned, barely restraining himself from rolling his eyes.

“When were they born?” Lupin continued, not missing a beat.

“Mother was born in 1925 and Father in 1929.”

“They died young.”

“Many Blacks do.”

Lupin cleared his throat and had the decency to look uncomfortable. “Then I suppose we could start by looking at the records for children who entered Hogwarts in the 30s and 40s.”

“Do you have access to these records?”

“I know of a copy in the Headmaster’s Office.”

“Helpful,” he groused. “Do you suppose Dumbledore will be willing to loan it out?”

“No, but I’m sure —”

Remus paused mid-sentence and Regulus jumped back in alarm, knocking his chair to the floor with a loud clatter. A large silvery _lioness_ had bolted through the library door and leapt up onto their table — a patronus, he realised, but how? She turned to Lupin, who appeared as infuriatingly calm as ever, and opened her mouth to bare gleaming pointed silver teeth but instead of roaring, as Regulus had expected her to do, she spoke — impossibly — with the sweet and gentle voice of his wife.

“Caractacus had the locket. Sold to Hepzibah Smith, supposedly murdered by her house-elf in the 50s. The Dark Lord’s doing, perhaps? We’re off to dinner now — we’ll see you tonight after the auction.”

“Thank you, Clementine,” Lupin said lightly and turned back to his parchment.

The lioness bowed her head and circled around to fully face Regulus. His breath caught in his throat as she stared at him with unnerving, imperious pale eyes and then, to his surprise, she _purred_. He cast a darting glance over to Lupin who appeared to be completely immersed in reading through his own notes, and tentatively stretched a hand out towards the lioness. He felt rather foolish but she closed her eyes and leaned her head into his palm. She was solid, he realised. Cold to the touch but solid. Somehow, _someone_ had cast a fully corporeal patronus from across London and sent it here, bypassing the formidable wards, to deliver a message in his wife’s voice.

The lioness purred once more, a lovely low rumble that did odd things to his stomach, before evaporating in a cloud of swirling silvery-blue mist. With her passing, he felt a deep longing to see Clementine.

“Dumbledore’s invention.”

“Pardon?” Regulus was staring at the spot where the lioness had been, hand still outstretched, only vaguely aware that Lupin had spoken.

“That was a Messenger Patronus. Dumbledore invented the spell during the war, as a way for us to contact other members of the Order of the Phoenix without danger of the message being tampered with.”

“So Sirius…?”

“No, Sirius’s patronus is a dog. That was Clementine’s. I taught her a few years ago; it comes in useful, especially if you don’t have an owl to hand,” he looked up and Regulus quickly pretended his hand was reaching out for another book and sat back down on his righted chair. “I could teach you, if you like.”

“No,” he said abruptly. “I don’t think that would be necessary.”

“Did you cover the Patronus Charm at school? I can’t recall if you took Defence to NEWT level or not…”

“Perhaps we ought to focus on the content of my wife’s message rather than the manner by which it was conveyed,” Regulus said primly. It was common knowledge that a wizard had to be pure of heart to cast a patronus; what chance did he have, with all that he had done and _not_ done during the war?

 

 

 


	11. amemus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Apparently the reanimated dead don’t have the means or wherewithal to trim their fingernails.”

He missed her.

It was utterly ridiculous, he knew, because there had been thousands of miles of sea and land separating them for over a decade (entirely his fault) and now it was just a staircase or two and some closed doors (also his fault) but it felt worse now, somehow. Knowing she was so near and yet still so far away. But he still couldn’t bring himself to talk to her or barely even look at her because he was a complete idiot and he’d clearly misread the signs that she still wanted anything to do with him and he would certainly not be trying anything again because look what happened when he did.

He’d always struggled with physical intimacy. Well, intimacy of any sort if he was honest. His parents had never told him that they loved him, or tucked him up in bed, or looked after him when he’d been ill, or even hugged him (it was one of the many, many things that was worrying him about meeting his daughter: how was he supposed to know how to act with her when he had never had an appropriate parental figure to model his behaviour on?). His father had shook his hand once or twice and his mother had occasionally kissed his cheek, but nothing more than that. Nothing that felt real.

Sirius had show his affection — when they were children, before Hogwarts and Potter — with an arm slung over his shoulders or by ruffling his hair or letting Regulus sleep in his bed whenever there was a thunderstorm. He’d order Kreacher to bring soup when Regulus was feeling peaky and produce a cake under cover of darkness on his birthday. Sirius would always take the punishment whenever their mother was angry but this, however nice it was, had been poor preparation for falling in love.

Regulus hadn’t realised it was happening. He’d never been able to share in the other boys’ lewd jokes or ratings of each Hogwarts House’s female ‘asserts’ or staring at the Quidditch players’ tight trousers and the girls’ short summer skirts. He’d spent a decent amount of time considering whether he might like boys instead of girls but had eventually come to the conclusion that no, he didn’t particularly like boys _or_ girls. And had thought that was a blessing, since Mother would insist on setting him up with a nice pureblood girl of her own choosing anyway and it would be easier to pretend to like _her_ if he wasn’t hung up on somebody else.

That is, until he realised that what he really did like was Clementine. It wasn’t any of her individual body parts although they were all perfectly lovely. It was her openness and her sensitivity and her understanding, so different from anything else he had experienced in his lonely young life. It was her acceptance of him, not as the youngest Black or Sirius’s less-interesting brother or a pureblood or a Seeker or a Slytherin, just as plain old _Reggie_.

And once he had realised that, he had found it quite difficult to think about anything else.

He worried that he would never be able to tell her because someone as vibrant as she would never look twice at someone as uninspiring as he. He worried that even if he did manage to somehow bewitch her (the disturbing thought of Amortentia crossed his mind more than once) he could never hold her hand because his were too sweaty or too cold and she would find his Quidditch bumps and bruises repulsive. And he could certainly never kiss her, because his breath would smell and his lips would be too small and his teeth too big. He became crippled with paranoia that he was starting to act like Severus did towards the Evans girl. _Pining_.

Blacks don’t _Pine_.

And whether Clementine had sensed his anxiety or just grown tired of waiting he wasn’t sure, but she had made the first move. Privately, thank goodness. It had been so awkward and embarrassing that he had considered enrolling in Durmstrang just so he wouldn’t have to bear the disappointment in her face but somehow she hadn’t seemed to mind. He came to know the singular pleasure of walking around Hogsmeade with Clementine on his arm and the singular discomfort of formally introducing her as his _girlfriend_ to his (admittedly small) circle of friends.

The utter torture of introducing her to his family would come later.

He found that _true_ magic lay in feeling Clementine’s heartbeat quicken beneath his fingertips and spent many enjoyable hours discovering all the places where he might feel her pulse. She lifted his heart and his spirit and he found that returning to Grimmauld Place during the school holidays wasn’t so difficult when she was at the other end of an owl. She gave him the strength to continue his secret silent rebellion against his parents and, later, the rebellion that _should_ have ended in his death.

And he missed her.

He had told Lupin that he was retiring to bed and he ought to be sleeping but he couldn’t because the scent of her perfume was all over his pillows. He ought to have asked Kreacher to change them but he couldn’t bring himself to summon the elf because what if his pillows never smelled of her perfume again?

He ought to have been doing something more productive than moping like a lovesick teenager because goodness knows she and Sirius had discovered something _new,_ something _tangible_ , during their trip to Knockturn Alley but whenever he attempted to turn his mind to horcruxes it drifted back to the sweet taste of Clementine’s lips.

He missed her.

A slip of parchment wriggled itself under the gap between his bedroom door and the floorboards then flew upwards, twisting and twirling in the air until it came to a hovering stop above his head. Frowning at the interruption of his melancholy, he raised his arm and snatched it from the air. It fluttered once before falling still and unfurling in his palm, and ink slowly began to spread from the centre of the parchment until it formed three words that hit Regulus’s heart with a lurch:

_vivemus atque amemus_

Let us live and let us love.

He recognised the words instantly: they came from the first line of one of the poems of Catullus, a poem about giving in to love because life is short and who cares what anyone else says anyway. It was a poem he had read to Clementine when she had been afraid of what her friends would say about their fledgling relationship. It was a poem that she had read to him when he had been terrified of where his life was heading. And now she was reminding him of those words again and _fuck_ he loved her.

Regulus jolted upright and flew from his bed. He flung his bedroom door open and made to run down the stairs but halted abruptly, finding the woman he’d been despairing about all evening sitting on the top step with her back to the wall and twirling her wand in her hands.

“Reggie!” she gasped, and quickly rose. “I… I’ve not long been back, from the auction…” Her eyes darted to his hand and the scrap of parchment he was still clutching. “You… you got my note.”

“I did.” His voice was choked; he coughed, trying to clear his throat.

“I’m so sorry,” she breathed, and took a step towards him. “I didn’t mean… I just…”

“It’s my fau—”

“No,” she said firmly, cutting him off. She placed her gentle hands on his shoulders and he found he couldn’t breathe. She stood on her tiptoes and her lips were so soft as they brushed against his jaw that they might have been the wings of a fairy fluttering on his skin.

He looked down at her and swallowed his fear. “ _Vivemus_ ,” he whispered. _Let us live._

“ _Amemus_ ,” she whispered back. _Let us love_.

This time, she kissed him. And he kissed her back, and he would like to pretend that it was one of those kisses that young witches would read about in romance novels, a kiss that would make them sigh and swoon and gaze into the middle distance as they daydreamed. A kiss worthy of being immortalised in a sculpture or a painting or a poem. It wasn’t, though. It was messy and awkward with far too much teeth (he _knew_ his were too big) but he found he didn’t particularly care and it seemed Clementine didn’t care either by the way she was gripping onto his shoulders and pressing herself against him.

The second kiss was better. The third, glorious. After the fourth Regulus thought it might be prudent to seek the privacy of his bedroom; he took her by the hand and pulled her inside, closing the door firmly behind them.

He stared at her, hardly believing his luck as she stood in the middle of his bedroom clad in a silk nightgown the colour of buttercups with her hair falling in a golden cloud past her waist. She was a goddess.

He took a step towards her, and she towards him, and all too late he realised that the top two buttons of his shirt were undone and that her eyes were now level with his collarbone. He closed his eyes and winced as her finger found one of the red marks there.

“You have a scar,” she said curiously. She traced the line from its beginning at his throat, down the little dip at the base of his neck where his heartbeat was pounding furiously and, slipping under his shirt, along the length of his collarbone. “What happened?”

He opened his eyes but avoided her questioning gaze, choosing instead to embark upon a deliberate study of his bedroom. It was one of the few places she had left untouched in her redecorating of the house, but perhaps it was about time he did something with it. He certainly ought to sort out his old wardrobe because barely any of his old clothes fit him any more — he was living in those suspiciously new pieces that he suspected Clementine had purchased for him upon his return. At some point during his absence he must have had that growth spurt Aunt Cass was always insisting would come at some point.

“Reggie?”

Two gently hands on his face directed his gaze back down to meet hers. He sighed.

“The inferi,” he said quietly. “Apparently the reanimated dead don’t have the means or wherewithal to trim their fingernails.”

To his surprise, she leaned forwards to press warm lips against the scar.

“Did you fight them?”

“Pardon?”

“Did you use that Firestorm Charm we found? Or the Gubraithian Fire?”

“Erm, no. I was quite preoccupied with trying not to drown,” he said, a little prickly.

“How did they even get to you? Why were you anywhere near the lake?”

“I told you, the potion made me exceptionally thirsty —”

“I thought we agreed that we would take our own water in.”

He frowned. She didn’t _sound_ angry at him, she hadn’t raised her voice, but she was standing extremely still and staring at his scar while she spoke.

“I was in a rush. I wasn’t thinking,” he confessed and tentatively placed his hands on her narrow shoulders. Her skin was just as soft as he remembered.

“That is most unlike you. We spent _months_ making all those meticulous plans about how we would do it. How _we_ would do it. Together, Reggie.”

“I know.”

But he could never have lived with himself if she had stepped even one _foot_ in that place. He couldn’t have stopped her, so his only option had been to get there before she had the chance to realise what he had done.

“What was Kreacher’s suffering for, if you just chose to ignore everything that we learned from it? You could have _died_. We’re bloody lucky that he cares more about your life than following your orders.”

“I know.”

He traced slow circles on her shoulders with his thumbs. She felt awfully stiff beneath his hands.

“Let no one ever say that you aren’t every bit as impulsive and hot-headed and reckless as those Gryffindors,” she huffed.

He wasn’t entirely sure what to say to _that_ without irritating her further but settled for pulling her into a hug. He needed to reassure himself that this was real, that she was real and that he hadn’t died and that he was no longer in that cold lake surrounded by dead things.

“You could have died,” she repeated, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

“I know. But I didn’t.”

Her breathing was shaky and he felt a damp patch growing on his shirt where her face was buried, so he tightened his arm around her shoulders and held the back of her head in his palm. Eventually he felt her hands creep to his back and his shoulder blades and then she was holding him just as tightly as he was holding her. Like neither of them ever wanted to let go.

“Reggie,” she said in a whisper after some time. “Would you mind awfully if I stayed here with you tonight?”

“Not at all,” he replied, fighting to keep his voice steady. As if he hadn’t dreamed of such a thing every night since he had left.

She sniffed and slipped from his arms, heading straight for his bed. She pulled the covers over her and whether it was because she wanted to gaze at the bright moon or offer him some privacy he wasn’t sure, but she lay on her side and looked out of the window all the same.

And then Regulus faced a dilemma.

It would be quite uncomfortable for him to sleep in his day clothes but he felt equally uncomfortable at the thought of undressing in the same room as his wife, even if she was facing away from him. It wasn’t just the scar at his neck, it was the one below it and the ones on his back and his arms and his legs. They were ugly and red, each one a reminder of how stupid and reckless he had been, of how much pain he had caused her.

And there was the black stain on his forearm, too. Yet another reminder of his idiocy. At least she had seen that one before… but then, she would have to see the other scars at some point too. If he was lucky.

He sighed and undressed with care, folding his shirt and trousers and placing them neatly onto a chair before pulling on a pair of pyjama bottoms. He turned to get into bed and found his wife’s bright blue eyes staring back at him. Not at his scars, but at _him_. She held her hand out to him and he climbed in behind her after only the briefest hesitation.

“Don’t,” she murmured, reaching over to stay his wand arm as he raised it to extinguish the lamps. “I want to show you something.”

He watched in equal measures of apprehension and eagerness as she rolled over towards the window once more and pulled her hair over her shoulder. Her backless nightgown revealed three long pink lines crossing her pale skin. With a frown he spread his hand over her back, tracing his thumb over the raised lines and cursing himself yet again for leaving her in such a position that that could have happened.

“These scars are cursed, same as mine,” he said carefully.

“It wasn’t Bash.”

And she thought _he_ was the one who could read minds. She rolled back over and wriggled closer to him so she could rest her head on his chest. Her fingers ghosted over the new scars that had been revealed to her while he kept his hand splayed across her back and willed himself not to flinch.

“Then who?” he asked.

“It doesn’t matter. They’re being sufficiently punished.”

“Clementine,” he insisted because he _needed_ to know. So he could kill whomever it was. Or at the very least inflict grievous harm. Preferably by cutting off their wand arm.

“Bella,” she whispered. And those two syllables sent a waterfall rushing through his ears. His _own cousin_ had inflicted pain on his wife. And he could have stopped it.

“It was after the Dark Lord fell,” she said hurriedly, her palm on his pulsating chest the only thing stopped him from launching himself out of bed right that moment and rushing to Azkaban to confront Bellatrix. “She was mad with grief and confusion, they all were. She came to the house and said I had a hand in it because I blamed him for your death… she wanted me to suffer. Bash stopped her.”

“Rabastan was there?” he growled.

“And his brother and Barty. They never raised their wands against me, although Bash was the only one to try and stop her. He told her they had better toys to play with than me. Auror…”

“The Longbottoms,” he realised in a hollow voice.

“Yes,” she whispered, and her eyes filled with tears. “If I’d told her what she wanted to hear, or if I’d put up more of a fight then maybe they would have been interested enough to stay, and Alice and Frank would never have been hurt.”

“Nothing that has happened was your fault. You have done many extraordinary things.”

“It doesn’t feel very extraordinary.”

“While I have been hiding away and feeling sorry for myself you have turned this dark, terrible house into a beautiful and happy home, for possibly the first time in its history. And from what I have been told, you have raised our daughter to be intelligent and vivacious and that is beyond anything I could have hoped for.”

“The only thing missing was you.”

“I’m here now, if you’ll have me.”

She nodded, quickly, her hair tickling his chest. He hugged her closer and kissed the top of her head and they stayed like that for some time, their fast hearts beating a rhythm all of their own. Regulus was half-asleep when a memory from earlier that evening drifted back to the forefront of his mind.

“I met your patronus,” he murmured.

“You did?” she raised her head, eyes shining with delight. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

“And terrifying.”

Clementine laughed — truly the most wonderful sound in the world — and lay back down again. “She’s brighter since you returned home.”

A lovely thought, though he doubted its veracity. He wondered, again, if he would ever be able to produce one and knew instinctively that his would never shine so brightly as hers.

“It — _you_ said that Caractacus Burke had the locket?”

“Yes. Horrible old man.” He could feel her nose wrinkle in distaste and held in a chuckle. “He’d love to gut this house and wrap his bony old fingers around some Black treasures.”

Regulus stiffened, and she must have felt his unease because the very next thing she did was reassure him that the last thing she would do was let the crotchety wizard get his hands on any family heirlooms no matter how _questionable_ she found them.

“Sirius shared my concern that a house-elf could surely never commit violence against its Mistress. And unless Slytherin’s locket passed to someone else after Hepzibah Smith, it seems likely that the Dark Lord murdered her — either because he knew she had the locket and wanted it, or was after something else and happened upon it at the same time.”

“It does seem likely,” Regulus agreed, though he was aware that they were in danger of making connections without investigating all possibilities.

“She had goblin-made armour too, Caractacus said. That would certainly appeal to me if I were a Dark Lord. Lady. _Dark Lady_.”

She giggled and Regulus couldn’t help but laugh too, both at the odd-sounding phrase and the ridiculous notion of Clementine being anywhere _near_ Dark.

“Sirius found the report regarding her death,” she continued once she had composed herself. “The cause of death was recorded as accidental poisoning by the house-elf, but it didn’t say anything about her belongings or her relations. We thought you might be able to find her will.”

“How did Sirius get hold of an investigative report?” he frowned.

“Oh, he sort of works at the DMLE.”

“ _Sort of?_ ”

“He calls himself a… Consulting Detective? I don’t really understand but he seems to enjoy it. It does mean he meets with some rather unsavoury-looking people from time to time but as long as he keeps them away from the house I don’t ask too many questions.”

“He wanted to be an Auror, as a child. Father said Black Heirs didn’t have Ministry careers,” Regulus remembered.

“Ah. He, erm, didn’t qualify. But don’t bring it up in front of him, he’s still rather sore about it.”

“I won’t,” he said. _Unless he gives me reason to_.

“So could you? Find Hepzibah Smith’s will?”

“I expect so. I’ll need you to write the letters and take the floo calls, of course, but I’ll tell you who to contact and what to say.”

“Alright,” she sighed and snuggled into him, and wasn’t that just the loveliest feeling in the world. “I suppose we also ought to start thinking about how we’re going to reintroduce you to society. The Easter holidays are almost upon us, and we can’t expect Carina to keep you secret for long.”

“No,” he agreed, though the idea filled him with alarm. “That can wait until tomorrow, at least.”

She murmured her assent and he pulled the bedcovers over her shoulders. She soon fell asleep curled up at his side with her cheek resting over his fast-beating heart and before long he had joined her, his dreams for once filled with warm golden sunshine and fields of sweet-smelling violets that stretched as far as the eye could see.


	12. filia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why wouldn’t I be sure? He’s my dad, isn’t he?”

Waking up in her husband’s arms with a splash of sunlight warming her face had been a perfect start to Clementine’s day, and one that she would have been more than happy to repeat each subsequent morning until the end of time. While an air of awkwardness still hung around their daytime interactions (particularly when Remus or Sirius were in the same room as them), they each began to look forward to twilight and dawn and found the safety and privacy of Regulus’s bedroom the perfect place to grow accustomed to becoming intimate with one another again, after so long apart.

On one such morning Clementine lay perfectly still, watching the steady rise and fall of her husband’s chest as he breathed (she liked to do this, to make sure that he _was_ still breathing), but her mind was racing. Their horcrux investigations had taken a back seat over the past week or so as they realised that their time was running out and they _really_ ought to be making plans as to how they might reveal that Regulus wasn’t actually dead and that he had, in fact, defected from the Dark Lord’s side over a decade ago. Carina must be told first, of course, but it would be impossible to ask her to keep it a secret no matter how she took the news.

“Reggie?” she whispered, not sure if he had fallen back to sleep.

“Yes, _mellilla_?” he murmured.

She glanced up at him; his eyes were closed, though his hand crept to the back of her head and gently stroked her hair. He was wearing a small, sleepy smile and she felt a sudden rush of affection and gratefulness that she had been given this second chance at making a life with him. She would not let it go to waste.

“I think, before we go to the press or the Ministry or Albus or anyone, that we ought to let the family know.”

His eyes shot open and his smile disappeared as he stared at her. Guilt rattled around inside her and she could almost feel the waves of nervousness rolling off him but it had to be done.

They’d discussed their options with Remus and Sirius: a three-pronged attack, starting with appealing to their old Headmaster (Clementine hoped he would feel guilty enough for not speaking up on Sirius’s behalf that he would work doubly hard to prevent Regulus from experiencing the same fate); followed by engaging with the press to remind the Wizengamot and the wider wizarding population that they were a stable, happy, philanthropic family that had spent _years_ (lifetimes) distancing themselves from the Dark Lord; and finally, allowing the Ministry to investigate whatever they felt they needed to and hoping that the family solicitors would be worth the exorbitant amounts of gold they charged.

But Clementine had spent the early hours of the morning thinking that they perhaps ought to add another prong: Family. They ought to keep the Malfoys at a distance, of course — Lucius might have escaped Azkaban by the skin of his teeth but there were still plenty of whispers following him around, even if the Minister was too stupid to realise it — and obviously the Lestranges were a no-go, but no one else in the family had publicly declared for the Dark Lord. And they could use that to their advantage.

“Your grandfather is technically still head of the family even if he handed most of that business over to your father. It would be polite to let him know first, before we go to Andromeda’s for Easter.”

“Yes,” he said tightly. “I suppose it would be polite.”

“I imagine you must feel awful about the prospect of seeing any of them again,” she said quietly, taking his hand. “But from what I understand, Arcturus never wanted you to follow the Dark Lord.”

“He didn’t do much to stop it happening,” Regulus muttered darkly.

“I know. But he will feel some responsibility for keeping you out of Azkaban. He has been griping about how your mother let the Black name die out for years; he’ll be delighted that you’re here and, you know, capable of providing him with a great-grandson.”

Regulus grew pale and she looked away, blushing.

“I — yes.”

“Besides,” she continued, after clearing her throat. “He still has influence at the Ministry, particularly among the older families. Hopefully his presence will be enough to discourage Lucius from spreading anything too vitriolic.”

“You think that is a risk?”

“I don’t know. I think we ought to consider it… he still thinks that Draco is in line to inherit the Black fortune once we’ve all gone, despite Carina and Harry. I doubt he will want to work _with_ you, and at worst he will actively work against you.”

“I remember when you used to trust everyone implicitly.”

“That was a long time ago,” she said sadly, and he squeezed her hand. “Perhaps you could meet privately with Narcissa. She was always so fond of you and may be able to hold her husband back for your sake.”

“I would like to meet Draco,” he confessed.

She nodded. Many years ago, during their pregnancies, Narcissa had confided that she had intended to ask Regulus to be godfather to her first-born child. Clementine had understood the implication that she ought to ask the same of Lucius but had been repulsed at the very thought of that wizard holding any sway over her child. In the end she had chosen her cousin Jasper, who had a son just a few months younger than Carina.

“I thought you might wish to meet him,” she said. “Perhaps we could arrange a tea at Cassiopeia’s? It’s fairly neutral territory and she’ll keep everyone on their best behaviour should that be necessary.”

“Alright,” he agreed with a sigh. “And after that, I suppose I ought to finalise my confession with Orpington and hand myself in to the DMLE.”

“And Albus?” she asked, her heart constricting. They had been considering whether they ought to tell him what they knew about the horcruxes, or keep it to themselves until they had a better idea about how the Ministry would take to Regulus’s reappearance. It might turn out to be the leverage they would need to keep him from Azkaban.

“I am still undecided.” He stared up at the ceiling for a moment before extracting his arm from beneath Clementine and flinging it over his face in such a dramatic fashion that she found herself having to stifle a chuckle. “I would like to speak with Sirius more about his thoughts on the matter first.”

“We have a little more time before that needs to be decided, at least. I will write to Arcturus — well, Melania — to warn them to expect visitors. Carina will be home on Saturday; we could go on Monday? And perhaps tea at Cassiopeia’s on the Tuesday. And Albus immediately after that, depending on what you decide.”

“That seems awfully soon,” he grumbled.

“I know, darling, but the Easter holidays are only two weeks long and we ought to make sure we have all our pieces in position before Carina goes back to school.”

“You sound quite Slytherin when you speak like that you know.”

“I’ve had to be, surrounded by reckless Gryffindors and an inquisitive Ravenclaw,” she smiled. “And I’m going to have to be even more vigilant now that my reckless, inquisitive Slytherin is home.”

“I am not reckless,” he huffed.

“Of course you’re not, how silly of me,” she said lightly, and her smile grew wider. She lifted his arm from his face, her voice taking on a more serious tone as she searched his eyes. “I know these coming weeks and months will be painful, but you are not alone. We will get through this together.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, and lifted his head so he might press his lips to her cheek.

“I mean it, Reggie. I will do everything in my power to prove your innocence. Sirius and Remus, too.”

“But I am not innocent, Clementine."

“Darling you _are_. You were fifteen when they took you, sixteen when they gave you the Mark. You were underage and you had no agency.”

“I did things after I came of age. Terrible things. I had choices.”

“It isn’t a choice if the only alternative is death, Regulus.”

“Then I should have died in that cave,” he said quietly. He disentangled himself from her grasp, rose from the bed, and left the room while she gazed after him teary-eyed.

* * *

 

Saturday afternoon came all too quickly. Clementine hadn’t spoken directly to Regulus about… _anything_ important, really, though she had written to Melania, Cassiopeia and even Narcissa, to the _Daily Prophet_ and _Witch Weekly_ though not, despite Sirius’s semi-serious suggestion, the _Quibbler_. They weren’t that desperate just yet.

She knew that he was a ball of nerves about not only the prospect of an impending trial and the consequences should it not go in their favour, but also about reuniting with overbearing family members who would certainly have some harsh words for him whether they took his side or not and, most pressingly, meeting his daughter for the first time. If that is what Carina wanted to do, of course.

So Clementine had tried her best to be gentle and affectionate and keep any topic of conversation as light and non-confrontational as possible. Which, admittedly, was easier said than done when one shared a roof with Sirius Black.

But they had a plan. Lots of plans, actually, that were slowly (hopefully) slotting into place.

“The cottage is ready,” Remus said as he returned to the kitchen where they were all sitting, nervously waiting. Kreacher was keeping himself busy by ensuring every copper pot and pan was gleaming so brightly he could see his face reflected back in each one. Remus had been to check that everything was in order at his parents’ old place in Wales. “We can stay there until Harry and Carina go back to school, if necessary.”

“I’m sure it won’t be, but thank you,” Clementine smiled, watching Regulus pour another glass of whisky out of the corner of her eye.

Sirius rose and grabbed Remus’s arm, tilting it towards him so he could check the time on his watch. “Half an hour. We should probably get a move on, in case it’s early.”

“When has the Hogwarts Express ever been early?” Remus said, raising an eyebrow. He must have noticed something in Sirius’s expression, though, as he continued. “But I suppose if there were ever to be a time, it would be just our luck to be now.”

“Ready, Clem?”

She glanced at Regulus, gazing morosely into the bottom of his (empty, again) glass, and back at Sirius. “Go on up, I’ll be right behind you.”

When the sound of Sirius’s boots and their muffled chatter had disappeared upstairs, she turned back to her husband and placed her hand on his arm.

“I expect I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” she said, making a valiant attempt to sound cheerful. “But I’ll owl you tonight to let you know how… well, how it goes.”

He nodded. She squeezed his arm and rose to follow Remus and Sirius to the floo. To her surprise, Regulus reached out to stop her. He turned to her and stood and he looked so pained that her heart ached for him.

“I’m scared,” he admitted in a whisper. “What if she doesn’t want to see me at all? What will… what will _we_ do?” Clementine closed the gap between them and held him tightly, knowing how difficult it was for him to admit his vulnerability, even to her.

“She already loves you. Once she’s over the shock of knowing that you’re here, she’ll be so excited to see you. I know it.”

“I don’t want to be a disappointment.”

“You have never been a disappointment to us, Reggie. Infuriating, perhaps, but _never_ disappointing,” she took a step back and kissed the tip of his nose, which elicited the barest hint of a smile from him. “Now, don’t mope while I’m gone. Have a game of chess with Kreacher; you’ll need the practice because your daughter is rather good at it.”

                               

* * *

 

The platform felt busier than ever. Clementine barely noticed the polite nods and greetings from the other parents, so anxious was she about seeing her daughter and imparting this news. She felt uncommonly flustered and kept fidgeting with her skirt, her hair, her sleeves. Sirius shared her nerves; he was shifting his weight from foot to foot and kept glancing at the large clock suspended above the platform every few seconds. Remus stood between them, outwardly stoic with clammy hands buried deep in the pockets of his trousers, while Regulus paced the upper floors of Grimmauld Place and waited.

Finally there was a loud _chug-chug-chug_ followed by a shrill whistle and a billow of steam and then the gleaming red Hogwarts Express came to a stop at the edge of the platform. Hordes of children spewed out of its doors, some running into the open arms of their eager parents, others huddled in groups as they said a final farewell to their friends. The Easter holidays were only two weeks long but Clementine well remembered that aching feeling of being separated from your school friends, no matter how eager you were to return home.

She craned her neck, looking for that familiar cloud of golden hair, but Harry reached them first. Clementine barely had chance to greet him before Sirius had enveloped him in a hug and began tousling his hair. As if Harry needed any help in _that_ regard. She smiled fondly at them and looked back towards the train, half-listening to Remus and Sirius bestowing more hugs and asking questions about the last school term, the latter with a loud, manic tone to his voice.

And there she was.

“Mum!”

“Hello, my sunflower,” Clementine sighed, holding her daughter tightly and breathing in deeply. “I missed you terribly.”

“I missed you too Mum! I can’t wait to get back home — did you get my letter? Is it still alright if Zella comes next week?”

“Of course, if that’s what you want.”

“Is everything alright?” Carina asked suspiciously, frowning up at her mother’s flustered face.

“Yes? Yes! Just… we’re going back to the cottage instead of Grimmauld Place.”

“Why?” asked Harry, looking over to them.

“Erm —”

“We thought it might be fun to get out of London for a bit and enjoy the countryside while the weather is nice,” said Remus.

“We can play Quidditch tonight!” Sirius added. The mention of Quidditch quickly satisfied Harry, who turned back around to make sure that his owl was still safely secured in her cage. Carina, however, looked quite sceptical.

“Something’s wrong,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “You’re being weird.”

“Something has happened but it’s not necessarily _wrong_ ,” Clementine sighed.

“What?”

“There are too many people here. I’ll tell you when we get back.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, sweetheart.”

The Lupins’ old cottage was just a short trip away through the public floo in the little waiting area set aside for wizarding use at King’s Cross. It was a quiet, peaceful place nestled in a semi-sheltered spot on the north coast of Wales with hills and woodland behind and the Irish sea in front. There were sweet-smelling flowers growing all over its stone walls and there was just enough room for their little family inside with space for the children (and adults) to roam around outside from dawn until dusk.

As soon as she came through the floo Clementine settled herself on the sofa beside the window and patted the cushion to indicate that Carina should join her. The boys had immediately darted outside and were already playing with a quaffle in the back garden, their laughter echoing through the glass.

“Mum, what is it?” Carina asked urgently. “Are you ill?”

“No, of course not!”

“Is it Uncle Remus? Or Uncle Sirius?”

“Darling, no, we’re all perfectly healthy. I promise you.”

“Then what? Mum, you’re worrying me!”

Clementine took a deep breath and settled her twitching hands in her lap. This was quite possibly the most difficult thing she had ever had to do and she was terrified about how her daughter might react. Should she have told her before, as soon as Regulus had arrived home? Should she have owled the school or gone up there in person, should she have taken Regulus with her? Would Carina understand that she had needed this time, however short, to attempt to get her head and her heart in order?

“My sweet girl,” she said, and gave her a wobbly smile. Carina frowned. “I love you more than anything else in this entire world. Remember, Carina, that I love you and I would choose your happiness and your safety over _anything_.”

“Mum just _tell_ me!”

“Two weeks ago we had a very big shock,” she explained, taking a very deep breath. “Someone we thought we had lost forever turned up, unannounced, in our home. I thought about telling you right away, darling, and I am so sorry that I kept this from you but I had to make sure that he was still the man I knew. I had to make sure that he wouldn’t hurt us.”

“Who…?”

“There is no easy way for me to say this…” _Darling, trust me, I’ve spent hour upon hour rehearsing how to tell you._ “…your father came home.”

“But…” she gaped, eyes darting around the room as if Regulus was about to jump out of a cabinet and yell _surprise!_ “Dad’s… dead? We… we go to his _grave_.”

“I know. I thought… we all thought he had gone. But we were wrong because he is very much alive.”

“You didn’t know? Uncle Sirius didn’t know? And Aunt Cass and Grandpa Archie?”

“None of us knew.”

“I don’t… where is he? Can I see him? Is he hurt?”

“He’s not hurt. But… he will understand if you want to take your time. He isn’t expecting to see you right away, we can stay here tonight and talk about it some more and you can decide in the morning if you would like.”

“Mum, no! My dad is _alive_ I want to see him!”

The nervous, excited flush across her daughter’s face was enough to break Clementine’s heart. She should have known Carina would react like this, should have known that she would immediately insist on being taken to see Regulus. By Godric she hoped he was ready.

“Alright. If you’re _absolutely sure_ —”

“Why wouldn’t I be sure? He’s my dad, isn’t he?”

“My brave daughter,” Clementine smiled, and stroked Carina’s hair. She frowned back at her, looking confused and impatient and like she very much wanted this conversation to be over. “Just wait here for me while I tell your Uncles that we’re going home.”

But when she returned back just a few minutes later, the small sitting room was empty. The scattered green floo powder on the floor told Clementine all she needed to know and she, uncharacteristically, swore loudly as she followed her daughter into the fireplace. She felt hot and sooty and constricted as she stepped back into Grimmauld Place, like the walls were pressing in on her and she was scared, nervous, anxious.

“ _KREACHER!_ ” she heard Carina yell from the landing above, and then the sound of footsteps thundering upwards. Clementine rushed to catch up with her, taking the stairs two at a time in a way she hadn’t since she’d been a child herself. Carina was stood immobilised in the doorway to the drawing room and Clementine placed a steadying hand on her shoulder and whispered that it was alright, that they could go back to Wales if it was all too much.

Regulus had been sitting on the couch facing the window, the evening sunlight streaming into the room. He turned at the sound of the commotion and, upon seeing who was there, hastily put his book aside and stood. He smoothed down his neatly-pressed shirt and trousers and held his hands lightly behind his back — and if he was surprised to see his daughter, a pureblood and a Black, wearing ripped jeans and a multicoloured striped jumper with hair like a wild golden mane then he masked it expertly.

“Hello, Carina,” he said softly.

“Hi,” she whispered. They stood still for what felt like an eternity, just staring at each other in silence. Clementine rubbed Carina’s shoulder a bit her lip, unsure if she should intervene and break this awkwardness or allow them the time to acclimatise to each other. She glanced up at Regulus, who was standing so still he could have been carved from marble but for his grey eyes, darting all over his daughter as he looked upon her for the first time. 

But then Carina broke into a grin and darted across the room towards him.

“Dad!” she yelled with delight as she skidded on the rug and practically fell into him. She threw her arms around his waist and buried her face in his shirt. Regulus looked alarmed, eyes wide as he glanced up towards Clementine. She nodded, and forced herself to smile, and Regulus’s hands hesitated over his daughter’s back for the briefest moment before he tentatively returned her embrace.

 

 


	13. confessio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Uncle Sirius says Granny Walburga talked a load of old sh—”

Regulus had lurked in the kitchen after Clementine and Sirius and Lupin had departed for King’s Cross, nursing his whisky until Kreacher had scolded him, vanished the bottle and sent him upstairs, muttering audibly about needing to tidy the house ready for the young master and mistress’s return.

But would she return?

He made his way slowly upstairs, ignoring the photographs of familiar and unfamiliar faces waving at him as he passed and portraits pretending to sleep, too deep in melancholic thought to pay much attention to his surroundings.

From Carina’s letters to Clementine and the few conversations he had had about her, he surmised that his daughter knew _some_ of the events that had transpired in the war. Clementine had apparently told her that he had died trying to do the right thing, and while he _had_ been trying to do the right thing he _hadn’t_ died and had gone about it in such a stupid manner that he wouldn’t blame her if she never wanted to meet him at all.

And if she didn’t, what would he do? Would he ever be able to even see Clementine again, let alone continue to carefully rebuild their relationship? Where would he live? What would he _do?_

Regulus had taken a book — one about myths surrounding the Founders — and settled in the drawing room where the fading evening sun might bring some warmth back to his cold, clammy skin but he couldn’t concentrate for worrying about what might be happening across London in King’s Cross or, if they had already left, at Lupin’s cottage in Wales.

All too soon he heard a crash and yelling and heavy footsteps and it couldn’t be — could it? — and when he stood and turned to see what all the commotion was about, _it was_. His daughter was there, mere paces away from him and she was more… _vibrant_ , than he had ever expected. She was wearing decidedly muggle clothing: a striped jumper in bright clashing colours and blue jeans, and if _denim_ wouldn’t have been scandalous enough at one point in his life the jeans were ripped at the knee and all ragged at the hems. His mother would have had a fit if she could have seen a daughter of the House of Black in such a state.

But it seemed in keeping with what he had seen of Carina in photographs around the house and he tried very hard not to show his surprise as she suddenly darted across the room and flung her arms around him. His heart was stuck somewhere in his throat and hearing the word _Dad_ come from her mouth, and with such joy expressed in it, could have been enough to send him into cardiac arrest. He looked across his daughter’s golden hair — so like her mother’s, but fanned out all around her like a halo instead of in the neat waves that Clementine often wore — to his wife, terrified, but she seemed to think that this was an acceptable reaction so he took a deep steadying breath and held his daughter for the first time.

She felt very small. Neither he nor Clementine were what one might call _large-framed_ so he ought to have expected that their daughter would be slight too, but it was one thing to expect something and another to have it wrap its arms around you. And it was quite overwhelming to think that he had had a part — a small part, but not insignificant — in creating this beautiful child, this _living being_. That his blood ran through her veins and kept her heart beating. That she might have inherited some of his characteristics and physical traits. Such an odd, but wonderful feeling. And accompanied by a sudden rush of love that seemed to spread instantly through his veins and warm his very soul in ways that whisky had never. _Could_ never.

Regulus felt Carina pull away from him and, reluctantly, he let go. Already it felt like she was too far away from him but he didn’t trust himself to speak; his throat felt tight and constricted, his eyes embarrassingly close to tears. Fortunately, his young daughter took control.

“Dad, sit there,” she demanded. She was tugging at his shirt sleeves and pointing to the couch where he had been sitting just moments ago, not expecting this whirlwind of blond hair until tomorrow morning at least. He complied immediately, feeling rather dazed.

“Mum, sit by Dad.”

He looked up and found Carina pulling a rather amused-looking Clementine across the room towards him and holding what looked to be her schoolbag in her other hand.

“This might be uncomfortable, I do apologise,” Clementine whispered, leaning towards him.

Those were some mightily alarming words but he watched his daughter jump into the large armchair opposite them and flick through the pages of a thick notebook stuffed with extra slips of parchment, photographs and what looked like a feather or two. He watched how she creased her brow and worried her bottom lip until she found the spot that she was looking for, and pulled a stump of a quill from behind her ear — precisely where Clementine used to find (and lose) her own quills at that age.

“So,” she said loudly, and Regulus found himself sitting up straighter. “Dad. Mum has told me lots of stories and answered lots of my questions but I’d like to ask you some things too because she can be a bit biased sometimes. No offence, Mum.”

“None taken,” Clementine said lightly. She was pressing her lips together as though she were trying not to laugh; Regulus raised an eyebrow but she just shook her head, a smile escaping from her lips. Already he was feeling quite discomposed by his daughter’s forwardness. If he had ever dared say something like that to _his_ mother… well, Sirius _had_ , and look what happened there.

“Mum told me that she fell in love with you in first year when you sat together in Transfiguration — Mum, please don’t interrupt me when I’m talking it’s _rude_ — because you used to bump elbows or something? That doesn’t sound very romantic to me but whatever makes your broom hover I suppose. Is that when you fell in love with her too?”

Regulus stared at her for a long moment, and blinked slowly. If Blacks gawped, he would be gawping. But Blacks didn’t gawp and he definitely wasn’t gawping, no matter how surprised he was at this bizarre turn of events.

“Well,” he said slowly, reminding himself that he had promised to be honest to his daughter and though he hadn’t exactly had _this_ topic in mind… he ought to honour that promise. “I don’t think it was the bumping elbows that — how did you put it? _made my broom hover?_ — because if anything, I found that incredibly irritating.”

“It’s because she’s left-handed. Nobody wants to sit next to her at dinner either.”

Clementine made an odd choking noise next to him but he didn’t dare look at her because he could picture exactly what her face was doing and he really, _really_ didn’t want to start laughing in front of his daughter so early on.

“When, then?” Carina pressed when he failed to respond immediately.

“I’m not sure if there is a precise moment that I can pinpoint. It took me a very long time to realise what my feelings towards your mother were.”

“What made you realise it?” she asked, leaning forwards in her chair with her quill poised and ready.

“Amortentia,” he admitted, feeling like his daughter’s gaze might have the same power as Veritaserum. “We were learning how to recognise it in Potions, and the next morning I realised that what I had smelled was your mother. Violets, ink, and honey: her perfume, her ink-stained hands, and the honey she takes with her tea.”

“That is _way_ better than bumping elbows,” Carina grinned. “What did you like about Mum?”

“She talked a lot,” he said carefully, curious about what Clementine had told her she liked about _him_. “About her emotions and her likes and dislikes and her hopes for the future, which I found fascinating. My family didn’t really talk all that much.”

“Uncle Sirius says Granny Walburga talked a load of old sh—”

“Carina,” Clementine said in an exasperated tone.

“Alright, _sorry!_ It’s not like she can hear me all the way down here.”

An interesting turn of phrase. Was there a portrait of his mother hidden somewhere in the house? The thought of stumbling across that was quite terrifying and Regulus made a mental note to ask Clementine its precise location so he might ensure that that would _never_ happen.

“Sirius isn’t wrong,” Regulus continued, attempting valiantly to hide a smile. “But your mother was very good at talking and telling stories. She wasn’t as guarded as many of my other friends and far more optimistic, and compassionate, and helped me worked through a lot of… dilemmas. I found her endearing and intriguing, as well as fiercely loyal and breathtakingly beautiful. She still is.”

He glanced over at Clementine, quite surprised by how easily he had confessed that, and in front of their daughter too. His heart was racing but she looked away, eyes darting to the ceiling and the tapestry on the wall and the patterns on the carpet, but she couldn’t hide the blush that was creeping across her cheeks.

Carina muttered to herself as she scribbled away in her notebook. “Mum said you were just friends for ages and ages but you finally got together after that big party when you saved her from Rabastan Lestrange because he was a right effing prat?”

“Well, yes… I suppose that was the beginning of it, yes,” he stumbled a little, alarmed at her choice of words.

“Mum said he was a prat again when I was a baby.”

“I know. And I am very sorry that I wasn’t here to help a second time,” he said quietly.

“That’s alright. Uncle Sirius beat him up muggle-style. And he’s in Azkaban now.”

Clementine had failed to mention the _Sirius_ part of it. He glanced to her for confirmation and she nodded, a resigned expression on her face.

“Anyway,” Carina continued. “Mum said you gave her that music box because it was her birthday as well as the big party and she was really happy even though Rabastan was a prat.”

“Yes.”

“Mum said that she was waiting for you to ask her out for ages and ages but you never did, and her friends were getting really annoyed because she kept talking about you all the time so _she_ asked _you_ , even though she was really embarrassed.”

“Yes. And I’m very glad that she did because I don’t think I could have ever found the courage to do so.”

“And she said that later on her friends were worried that you were a _You-Know-What_ and would hurt her. But she loved you anyway.”

“Yes,” he said, a little wary of where the conversation was heading. He had know idea of how much Clementine had told her about the war or his involvement in it. That damned stain on his left forearm itched and he had to restrain himself from touching it.

“But you did hurt her. And you let other people hurt her.”

“Carina,” Clementine warned.

“What? It’s true,” Carina said defiantly.

“It is true,” said Regulus, gazing sadly at his wife. “And I will never be able to apologise enough for that. To both of you.”

“Carina, I think that’s enough questions for now.”

“Mum, no! I’ve still got loads and there’s only two weeks before I have to go back to school!”

“You can ask them tomorrow, Carina. It’s getting late.”

“No! It’s not fair! You’re _back!_ ” she cried, pointing at Regulus. “And you still think she’s beautiful even though she’s old, and she’s still in love with you even though you left her, so why aren’t you holding hands and stuff?”

“Sunflower, it’s not as simple as that—”

“It should be! You talk about him _all_ the time, Mum! You cry about him with Uncle Sirius and you sleep in Dad’s bed and you keep his photograph in your purse and you wear his old Quidditch jersey even though it’s _ancient_ and you drink too much on his birthday and you’ve never even _fancied_ anyone else!”

“Carina, that’s enough,” Clementine said firmly, though her voice and her hands were shaking. Regulus looked between them both, feeling wretched and anxious and having no clue at all what he should do to calm them both down.

“I just want you to be happy! _I_ want to be happy! I want us to be a normal family like everybody else!”

Carina was crying now, but as Clementine reached her hand out towards her she leapt from her chair and ran out of the room. Regulus watched her flee in horror and sighed heavily, leaning forwards to rest his forearms on his thighs and look down at the floor.

“Is it true?” he asked quietly, after the slam of a door from elsewhere in the house echoed through the room and rattled the cabinet doors.

“Which part?” Clementine sniffed, attempting to wipe away her tears with the back of her hand.

“All of it. Any of it?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “My heart has always beat to the rhythm of your name and it was a constant reminder of what I had lost.”

Regulus ran his hands through his hair, frustrated at how the evening had panned out. He hadn’t expected them to return tonight and he had drunk far too much of Sirius’s firewhisky (which was cheap and tasted terrible; he needed to find where his brother was keeping the good stuff) in an attempt to help him sleep later on, but here they were, and he’d said far too much (or not enough?) and now his wife and daughter were both crying and they probably hated him. Again.

He jumped when he felt a hand snake beneath his arms and across his stomach, and another across his back, and then realised that Clementine was trying to hug him.

“I want what Carina wants,” she said in a whisper so quiet he could barely hear her. “I want us all to be together. A family.”

His heart leapt into his throat and he thought, absurdly, that if it did that any more times it might jump right out of his mouth. Clementine kissed his shoulder and he wished that his shirt wasn’t in the way but before he could take her in his arms and kiss her back she had slid away from him and was walking towards the door.

“Clementine.”

“I ought to go and make sure Carina hasn’t locked herself away in Kreacher’s den.”

Was that really an issue or was she trying to avoid him?

“Clementine,” he said more forcefully, and this time she stopped in the doorway and turned to face him. “I want it too.”

She nodded, gave him a small smile of acknowledgement, and left.

Regulus dropped his head into his hands and sighed heavily. He thought that Clementine might have taken the time to explain to Carina the tentative steps they were taking towards rebuilding their relationship together but then… he supposed it would be quite difficult to put that into words that a child might understand. By Salazar, he struggled enough with trying to comprehend it himself and he was _living_ it.

He stood from the couch and walked sombrely towards the tapestry that dominated the largest wall of the room. His eyes fell first to those bold words emblazoned in shimmering gold thread, repeating over and over as a frieze along the top and bottom: _En Stirps Nobilis et Gens Antiquissima Black_. Behold the Noble Lineage and Most Ancient House of Black.

A small hum of pride still thrummed inside him when he took in all those faces and names: his ancestors, going back generation after generation until the very first ones to have recorded their family almost a thousand years ago. Robert and his wife Eléonore had had three children but the eldest, Matilda, had died in childhood leaving her siblings Guy and Agnes to carry the bloodline. How had she died? Had Robert and Eléonore grieved for her? Were they good parents? Why had they decided to record their family in an enchanted tapestry, the only one of his kind as far as he was aware — and why did they choose _Toujours Pur_ for their motto? Did they really mean for it to be interpreted centuries later as a demand for pureblood supremacy, as Mother insisted? Or did they mean something else entirely, as Clementine had once suggested: always pure of heart, or mind, or soul, rather than blood?

He stroked a hand over their faces, unfaded despite the years that had passed, and wished he could know more about them than just their names and years of birth and death. Perhaps he could do some investigating, after he had atoned for his crimes and the Dark Lord had been defeated. Perhaps he could find a way to restore those who had been scorched from it because he suspected that, like Sirius and Andromeda, none of them had truly done anything to deserve being cast from the so-called Noble Lineage.

 

* * *

 

 

“Dad, are you an animagus like Uncle Sirius?”

Regulus looked up from his dinner plate and found his daughter gazing back at him with bright, curious eyes. After retrieving her from Kreacher’s den, Clementine had called Regulus downstairs and ordered them both to eat dinner while she disappeared upstairs with the elf. He had feared it would be painful and awkward but it turned out that twelve year old girls were remarkably robust and Carina had launched straight back into questioning him.

“I am not,” he said slowly, worried that she would think him a disappointment in comparison to his perpetually more interesting older brother.

“What do you think you would be, if you were? Mum said it’s usually the same as your patronus but I can’t do one of those yet. Mum’d be a scary lioness, don’t you think?”

“Terrifying,” he agreed with a smile. “I am yet to master the patronus too, but I think it would be quite useful to be able to turn into some type of bird. What would you like your form to be?”

“Giraffes are my favourite animal but I think that would be a bit impractical,” she said, glancing up at the ceiling as though she were assessing if a giraffe would fit in the kitchen. “A bird would be fun, then you could fly without a broom. Or a winged horse, like one of Aunt Cass’s Granians!”

“Did your mother tell you we’re going to go and see Aunt Cass next week?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, and tilted her head to the side as she looked at him thoughtfully. “Do you reckon I could ride one of her horses?”

“I don’t see why not,” he smiled. “Have you not ridden one before?”

She shook her head. “Not in the air.”

“I can take you up, if you would like,” Regulus offered, mistakingly thinking she was nervous about the concept of flying, _not_ that Clementine had never allowed her to ride one before. “I used to ride them all the time when I was your age.”

“Really? Thanks Dad!” she grinned, and turned back to her plate. They both fell quiet while they continued eating, the sound of cutlery clinking against china the only sound in the room, but only for a moment before Carina piped up again. It seemed she had inherited her mother’s talkative nature.

“Mum said you’re a _brilliant_ wizard, how come you can’t do a patronus?”

“Well,” he said carefully. “We never covered it at school, and afterwards—”

“I suppose you wouldn’t really need to, since the dementors were probably on your side anyway,” she said matter-of-factly. The lack of accusation in her voice momentarily floored him and he was curious to find out what she had actually been told about what had happened, and his involvement in it.

“Carina, what do you know about… the war?” he asked carefully.

“Mum said I shouldn’t ask you about it,” she said nervously, eyes flicking to the staircase as if Clementine might walk down at any moment.

“It’s alright, you’re not asking,” he pointed out. “I am.”

She considered this for a few moments and he noticed her eyes flicking to his arm, to the Mark that was currently concealed (as ever) beneath his shirt sleeve.

“Would you like to see it?” he asked carefully.

She nodded, eyes round and staring. He unbuttoned the cuff of his left sleeve and carefully rolled the fabric up to his elbow. Then, he placed his arm on the table between them, forearm facing upwards. His Dark Mark had faded after the Dark Lord had fallen (though, worse luck, it had never truly disappeared) and was now a light grey colour but still noticeable against his pale skin. Carina rose to her knees on the bench and leaned over to get a better look, tucking her hair behind her ears.

“Can I touch it?” she asked.

“You may,” he replied, though he wished she wouldn’t. It wasn’t a thing for one as innocent as she to touch but how could he ever begin to explain that to her?

“It’s pretty stupid,” she said, as she traced the lines of the skull and poked the snake protruding from its mouth with her forefinger. Regulus couldn’t help but laugh at her honesty. She lifted her head and grinned at him.

“It’s very stupid,” he agreed.

“Were you bad?” she asked, her smile dropping as she sat back on her heels, her hands disappearing into her lap.

“I… I did bad things.”

“Did you kill anyone?”

“Not directly.”

“Did you hurt anyone?”

“Unwillingly, but yes.”

“Why?”

Regulus pulled his arm back and was about to roll down his sleeve again when he thought better of it. If he was being honest with her — which he was, brutally — then he oughtn’t have the comfort of being able to cover such a thing up. Instead, he occupied himself with rolling up his other shirt sleeve while he considered how to answer his daughter’s question.

“I’m not sure how much you have heard about my participation in the war.”

“Not much,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Uncle Sirius said you were an idiot. Mum said you were at school when you joined the You-Know-Whats and you didn’t like it and then you figured out that You-Know-Who was doing something _really_ bad, like even worse than killing and hurting all those people, and you stopped him but that’s how you… well, you didn’t _die_ , obviously, but… yeah.”

“I was fifteen when I joined the Death Eaters and sixteen when the Dark Lord gave me this Mark,” he said briskly, gesturing to his arm.

“Oh,” she frowned, and looked at it again. “That’s only three years old then me.”

And when she put it like that, it did sound terribly young.

“It wasn’t an appropriate age to be making such big decisions,” he sighed. “I thought that it would please my parents and help mend the rift in my family. It didn’t. I thought my name and its status in our world would enable me to protect the people that I cared about. It didn’t. I thought that my blood and my age would excuse me from participating in many of the… crimes. They didn’t.”

“Oh,” she repeated. “So you didn’t believe it…? What You-Know-Who said about purebloods being better and all that?”

“When I was your age, I did. You’ve met my mother?”

She nodded.

“All my life, Mother had told me that purebloods were better witches and wizards because our blood was not diluted with that of muggles: that it was purely _magical_ blood running through our veins and that it made us stronger and more intelligent. I had never met a muggle or even a muggle-born wizard before I went to Hogwarts, so I hope you can understand that it was quite difficult for me to produce an argument against her theory.”

Carina looked sceptical, but Regulus took a deep breath and ploughed on.

“On top of that, Mother told me that _we,_ the Blacks, were better even than the other pureblood families because our bloodline was the oldest and the purest. You can imagine my surprise when I got to Hogwarts and realised that I wasn’t so different from any of the other children, regardless of their background. Yes, I was good at Flying and Potions and Astronomy but I had had lots of practice with those things before I went to school — but a half-blood was top of my year in Herbology and a muggle-born, despite never having picked up a wand until just a few months before, was top in Defence.”

“Harry’s friend Hermione is a muggle-born and she’s top in _everything_ ,” she said, looking rather disgruntled by the fact.

“Some of my old friends would have told you that Hermione had stolen her magic from another witch or wizard.”

“That isn’t true.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s about as possible to steal magic as it is to steal a talent for flying, or the ability to metamorph.”

“Dora’s a metamorphmagus!” Carina grinned.

“Andromeda’s daughter?”

She nodded. Curious. Mother had always insisted that there had been a history of metamorphmagi in the family, though he had never seen any evidence for the fact. That Andromeda had borne one, after marrying a muggle-born… very curious.

“So you don’t believe that purebloods are better than muggle-borns any more?” she asked.

“No.”

“And you don’t think it was okay for You-Know-Who to kill muggles?”

“Certainly not.”

“Alright,” she smiled, seemingly satisfied for now, and set upon her dinner once more. Regulus found that he had somewhat lost his appetite and pushed his plate to the side in favour of his glass of some sort of fizzy lemony drink Carina had insisted that he try. It was quite pleasant.

Soon after he heard footsteps on the stone stairs and turned to see Clementine descending.

“Is everything alright?” she asked, eyes flicking to Regulus’s bared forearms and looking rather surprised.

“Yep,” said Carina, not looking up from her peas. “Dad said I can go riding at Aunt Cass’s next week.”

“Did he now?”

Clementine’s eyebrows rose higher and Regulus considered that he might have misstepped.

“I thought—” he started.

“We’ll see,” Clementine said firmly, giving him a look that very clearly meant _not now_. But she sat on the bench beside him so she couldn’t have been that annoyed. She watched their daughter eat for a moment or two, and then looked questioningly at the Dark Mark on Regulus’s arm. He raised a shoulder and she took hold of his hand, entwining their fingers and pressing her beautiful unblemished forearm against his horribly stained one. He looked at his wife, and saw Carina smirking at them out of the corner of his eye.

“Yes?” Clementine asked her.

“Nothing.”

Carina quickly dropped her head back to her food but he could still see her smirk.


	14. carina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t want you to lay down your life,” she frowned. Gods, but he was frustrating at times. “I just… I just want you to be here.”

It had taken some effort to get Carina to go to bed that night. No doubt sleep had sounded infinitely dull when she would much rather spend all night alternating between gazing in adoration at her father and peppering him with questions, but she was eventually convinced with the promise that they could spend the entirety of Sunday doing whatever she might wish to do.

When she went to check on her, Clementine found her daughter sat at her dressing table and dutifully brushing her hair. Clementine gently took the brush from her hand and glanced at the handle: sixty-three brushes so far. Carina sat on her hands, swinging her legs back and forth, and let her mother finishing brushing her long, shining hair free of a day’s worth of tangles.

“Mum?” she asked, almost shyly.

“Yes, sunflower?”

“Do you think I look more like you or like Dad?”

Clementine paused her brushing and looked at her daughter in the mirror. Seeing their reflections there, so close together… there was no mistaking that they were mother and child. She had always thought they looked near identical, especially with those long golden waves, but as Carina grew older Clementine saw Regulus coming out in her more and more: the thickness of her hair, the shape of her eyes, even the way her little fingers curled when relaxed.

“The Black family have very strong physical characteristics,” she said diplomatically. “You know how strangers sometimes think that your Uncle Sirius is your father, because you have similar eyes?”

Carina nodded.

“Well, that comes from Regulus.”

“What else?” she demanded, staring steadily at her own eyes in the mirror.

“You know that freckle you have, right here?” Clementine touched a spot on Carina’s collarbone, covered at the moment by her pyjama top. “Your father has one there as well. Exactly the same.”

Carina grinned and pulled her top away from her skin, taking a peek at the freckle that she’d always thought was a little bit weird, but would now cherish as a new link to her father.

“I think I’d like to look a bit like him,” she confided.

Clementine smiled tightly at Carina’s reflection. Of course it was only natural that the child should wish to resemble her father but Clementine couldn’t help but feel a little… spurned, all the same. Carina had been her entire world for years, and even after Sirius and Remus and Harry had joined them she still relied on and confided in her daughter more than was probably wise considering her age. Would Carina not need her any more, now she had her father back?

“That’s a hundred brushes done,” she said lightly, and tapped her daughter’s shoulders before placing the hairbrush back onto the dressing table. “Into bed now.”

“Dad told me some stuff at dinner,” Carina said in a cheerful tone as she arranged her pillows and slipped beneath her bedcovers.

“Oh yes?”

“He wasn’t much older than me when he joined the You-Know-Whats.”

“I know,” Clementine sighed. She gave Carina her stuffed dragon toy and tucked the blankets in around her, wrapping her up like a giant sausage roll.

“But you got married _after_ that. Did you know?”

“Yes, I knew.”

“But you didn’t believe all that stuff about blood purity, did you? I know you _are_ a pureblood but you were a Hufflepuff too, and Hufflepuffs aren’t bad,” she frowned.

“No, and Regulus didn’t believe it either, once he’d had the chance to form his own opinions,” Clementine smoothed down the bedcovers and sat down on the edge of Carina’s bed. “I married him because I loved him and because I knew that he was a good person facing an extraordinarily difficult set of circumstances. I married him because I had hopes that we might have a beautiful, peaceful future together after the War. And because he needed _someone_ who would fight for him.”

“But he ran away without you.”

“He did. He was eighteen and terrified and convinced he was doing the right thing. But he’s back now, and that’s what matters.” _Or so I’m trying to believe._

“And you and Dad… are you happy again, now?”

“We’re getting there,” she said softly. “Your father was away from a very long time. We’ve both grown and changed and we need to get to know each other again before we rush into anything because _you_ are the most important person in this situation, Carina. We have to make sure that nothing we do is going to end up hurting you.”

“It won’t.”

“I hope not,” Clementine smiled, and bent to kiss her daughter on the forehead. She smoothed the covers again and forced her mouth into a tentative smile. “Now, would you like me to read you a story or are you too old for that now you’re at school?”

“Can Dad do it?”

“I’ll ask him,” she said, giving another tight smile. She kissed Carina’s forehead again. “Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you a thousand galleons.”

“I love you a thousand and one!”

Clementine left the door ajar as she stepped lightly across the hallway and found Regulus stood silently, impassively, by the big window in the drawing room staring out into the night.

“Regulus?” she asked hesitantly, hovering in the doorway. His head snapped around to her almost comically fast. “Carina would like you to read her a bedtime story.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, and though she wasn’t, not even a little bit, she nodded. Of _course_ she would much rather read the story herself because Helga knows there were few enough chances to do that these days. But Carina had been denied her father her entire life and Clementine didn’t think it prudent to get in the way of their relationship now that they were able to have one.

“She’ll probably fall asleep after a few minutes if she isn’t already,” she said quietly. “But don’t let her force you into reading more then one chapter. She can be rather persuasive.”

Regulus nodded sagely and slipped inside their daughter’s bedroom.

Clementine waited on the landing for a short while, feeling both comforted and envious at the sound of Regulus’s low soothing voice reading _The Warlock’s Hairy Heart_ to her daughter, before she slowly made her way upstairs. She kept a steadying hand on the smooth polished bannister as she climbed, feeling far older than her thirty-one years. It had been a long, trying day. A long, trying fortnight.

She was already dressed for bed by the time Regulus returned to her, in her customary long silk nightgown with matching robe draped around her shoulders. She was perched on the edge of his desk, turned towards the window and gazing out across the London skyline at the street lamps and neon signs and yellow-lit windows that peppered her view like false stars. She watched Regulus approach her, hesitantly, looking far too much like a pale ghost in his reflection.

“I left Carina’s night light on,” he said softly. “You were right; she fell asleep rather quickly.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, and turned to face him. “Are you… how are you?”

“A little overwhelmed,” he admitted, fiddling with his shirt sleeves. “She is…”

“…Not what you expected?”

“No.”

Clementine wondered what he _had_ expected. Perhaps he had assumed that she would have raised their daughter in the same manner he had been — and perhaps she would have, if Walburga had lived and Sirius hadn’t offered her sanctuary. But that wasn’t the way that _she_ had been raised (how could she have been, with her mother in and out of St Mungo’s and her father so distracted) and while the joint virtues of Narcissa and necessity had ironed out any wrinkles in her delicate pureblood persona… times were different, now. Carina could do anything, _be_ anything that she wanted and Clementine had tried her best to cultivate that, even if it meant a grilling from certain members of the family.

“She is quite… forward,” he said, clearly struggling to find appropriate words.

“We have always been honest with her and trusted her to come to her own opinions regarding the facts presented to her,” Clementine countered, a little more defensively than she had intended.

“Yes, I can see that. I mean, it’s not… I think that what I’m trying to say is that I approve?”

“Thank you,” she said primly. _I don’t need your approval when it comes to raising my daughter._

“But… _jeans,_ really? That was rather a shock.”

“ _Flying horses?_ ” she countered.

”Touché,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. “But why the reluctance to let her fly? It isn’t really any different to going up on a broomstick.”

“No different…” she shook her head. “Regulus, broomsticks aren’t _sentient_.”

“That’s debatable.”

“You’re debatable,” she muttered and turned back to face the window with a pout. She knew she was being childish but she couldn’t help but feel annoyed that _already_ Carina had managed to wrap him around her little finger and use his guilt at being absent for so long to get her own way. And annoyed at Regulus for not realising what the _child_ was attempting to do.

“I apologise,” he said stiffly.

Clementine sighed, regret now overweighing her annoyance. It was her own fault for not warning him, for not warning Carina. She turned fully to face him, bare feet resting on the desk chair, and twisted her hands in her lap.

“I have been the sole decision maker when it comes to Carina’s safety for as long as she has been alive. I think it is going to be somewhat difficult to begin sharing that role.”

“I don’t wish to usurp your position,” he said, taking a step towards her. “You are her mother. I am just… well, I am just a man that she thought was dead for twelve years.”

“Is that all you wish to be to her?”

“No, of course not, I—”

“Good,” she said firmly. “Because I have never known you to take half-measures, Regulus, and I am not about to let you start doing so with my daughter.”

“ _Our_ daughter,” he said, with a quirk of his lips.

“Yes, our daughter,” she smiled. He stepped forwards to press a kiss to her forehead and she felt a weight lift from her shoulders. She smiled, wider, _properly_ , but then he turned away to unbuckle and remove his belt and when he sat on the edge of the bed to take off his shoes she found herself kneeling on the floor before him.

He looked at her questioningly. Her hair fell like a curtain in front of her face as she bent her head and took one of his heels in her hand and rested it on her lap so she could untie his shoelaces. She carefully slipped his shoe off, feeling a wave of nostalgia as she recognised the scent of the same shoe polish he had always used, and moved to the other foot. She worked in silence as she removed both his shoes and placed them neatly beside each other next to the bed, feeling his gaze burn into the top of her head.

It was odd, perhaps, that she felt the need to care for him in this way, at this time. It was intimate in its mundanity, the act of a wife removing her husband’s shoes at the end of a tiring day. She had had so little opportunity to do it in the length of their twelve year marriage and whenever she had, in the past, it had always been when he had been feeling most vulnerable following a summons from the Dark Lord.

When she removed his socks, he wiggled his toes at her and sighed peacefully. Clementine smiled and looked up at him, resting her hands on his knees as he planted his feet into the thick carpet either side of her. He moved a hand to the side of her face, his fingertips stroking that soft spot behind her ear as his palm cupped her jaw and tilted her head up towards him.

“I love you,” she murmured, voicing the feeling out loud for the first time since he had returned to her.

His grey eyes widened in shock or delight or both, she wasn’t sure, and he slid from the bed, falling to his knees before her with a soft thud. He held her face in both his hands now and kissed her so fervently, with such _force_ , that she had to grip onto his shoulders to steady herself. She could _feel_ the intensity of his echoing response in his lips, like he was kissing her very soul, but then she heard it.

She tore herself away from Regulus’s lips and flew from the room, wrapping her silk dressing gown around her as she ran down the stairs. Carina’s cries echoed through the walls and when she reached her she was sat up in her bed, sheets pulled tightly around her, hugging her knees and sobbing.

Clementine immediately fell to the bed and pulled Carina onto her lap in a tangle of blankets.

“Hush, darling girl. Mummy’s right here. It was just a dream; nothing will harm you in this house, I promise you. It wasn’t real. You’re safe.”

She spoke continuously in soft murmurs, holding Carina close and stroking her hair and kissing the top of her head until the little girl’s sobs had finally subsided into hiccups.

“Can I come back upstairs with you?” she asked in a tiny, wavering voice.

“Of course you can, my love,” Clementine replied, her heart aching for her daughter’s pain but still relishing the chance to mother her and comfort her because who knew how long she had left to do it. “Shall we bring Hungry?”

Carina nodded and tucked her soft dragon toy under her arm, then took her mother’s hand as they got up from the bed. They walked slowly back up the stairs to the topmost landing and into Regulus’s old bedroom; Carina didn’t hesitate to crawl into the middle of the bed and immediately reached out for her mother. Clementine sat down next to her, leaning against the headboard, and held her close.

“Is everything alright?” Regulus asked, walking hesitantly over to them.

“It will be. Just a bad dream, wasn’t it Carina my love?” Clementine said, and squeezed her tightly.

“Daddy?” Carina lifted her head from her mother’s chest at the sound of Regulus’s voice, her own so soft and wavering that it made Clementine want to cry.

“I— I’m here,” he said, his voice catching.

“Stay?”

Regulus looked to Clementine for permission and at her nod, lay down on the other side of the bed and found his daughter burrowing into him, curled up in a ball against his chest. He swallowed, hesitating for just a moment before wrapping his arms around her and holding her close.

Clementine watched them, that now horribly familiar feeling of resentment bubbling up inside her and threatening to stifle the immeasurable love she held for these two. Carina had left a cold feeling of emptiness behind her when she had rolled over to her father and Clementine couldn’t help but think back to all the times _she_ had comforted her over the years. All the sleepless nights she had spent watching her daughter, making sure that she was still breathing and that her pulse was still beating. All the times she had dried her tears and chased away her nightmares and healed her grazed knees. Carina had known Regulus for mere hours and already she was turning to him for comfort instead.

“I had a scary dream,” she whispered.

“Would it help you to tell me about it?” he asked.

Carina shifted in his arms. “You have the snake on your arm but it wasn’t you.”

“What wasn’t me?”

“Hurting Mummy.”

Regulus snapped his head up, his eyes wide in alarm as he stared at Clementine.

“They can’t hurt anyone any more, sweetheart. They’re all in prison, remember?” Clementine said softly, stroking her daughter’s hair.

“But what if they get out of prison? Like Uncle Sirius did?”

“Uncle Sirius got out of prison because he was never meant to be there in the first place. He’s a good man, Carina. Prison is for bad people who do bad things.”

“But what if they escape?”

“No one can escape from Azkaban,” Regulus said with confidence.

“But what if they do?”

“Then I’ll stop them. No one will ever hurt you or your mother again, for as long as I live.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

Carina settled back down against her father’s chest and soon her breathing evened out into that slow, heavy breathing of sleep. Clementine hoped Carina would drool all over him. It would serve him right for all the years of baby sick and muddy hands he’d missed.

“You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep,” she whispered.

“I would lay down my life for you in a heartbeat, _mellilla_.”

“I don’t want you to _lay down your life_ ,” she frowned. Gods, but he was frustrating at times. “I just… I just want you to be here.”

“I am. I will be.”

“She’s my entire world,” Clementine whispered, inching forwards to kiss the back of Carina’s head.

“As you are mine.”

“No,” she said softly. “Not any more. You have a daughter now, too.”

Regulus smiled and squeezed his arm around Clementine, pulling her closer so she was resting her head against his shoulder, their daughter sleeping soundly in the space between them.

“Thank you,” he breathed, and pressed his lips to her forehead.

Clementine sighed contentedly, because while her head was filled with warring emotions her heart felt whole for the first time since 1979.

“Clementine?” he whispered. She glanced up at him and felt his fingertips brushing against the scars on her back, setting her skin to tingling. “I love you too.”


	15. arcturus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You are a Black. Blacks do not hand themselves in. Blacks are above the law.”

The next morning Regulus had woken up early with his arm trapped beneath Clementine’s surprisingly heavy head. Their daughter had somehow managed to make her way down to the foot of the bed in the night and was now lying across his feet. He wriggled his fingers and had only meant to try and get some feeling back into his arm but the movement woke Clementine; he smiled, apologetically, and in silent agreement, they both rose as quietly as they could and left Carina sleeping soundly with one arm dangling over the end of the bed.

They found Kreacher awake and bustling about the kitchen but the disgruntled elf shooed them out with flapping hands, and instead, they decided to make the most of the unusually warm weather and take breakfast in the back garden.

“I feel like I’m on holiday,” Clementine smiled beatifically, tilting her face towards the sunshine. She had always come alive in the spring, like a flower unfurling its petals at the first sign of warmth, while Regulus had always longed for the cooler months so he might bury himself beneath woollen sweaters and thick cloaks.

He poured her a cup of tea while she helped herself to a bowl of sliced fruit, heaping spoonfuls of yoghurt on top and finishing with a drizzle of honey and chopped nuts.

“I suppose you were able to enjoy many breakfasts like this, in Greece?” she asked as innocently as if he had merely returned from a long weekend on the continent instead of hiding out there in self-imposed exile for over a decade.

“Some, yes,” he conceded. They had yet to speak in great detail about his time away and truthfully he was surprised that she hadn’t brought it up before, inquisitive creature that she was. “Although the company was never so pleasant.”

She raised an eyebrow and prodded dispassionately at her fruit with her fork. “You had company, then?”

“From time to time.”

“I see.”

A stillness had fallen over her face and Regulus took a sip of his coffee, watching her warily from across the table. Why the cold reaction? Had she assumed that he had remained in isolation for twelve years? How had she expected him to earn money, to eat, to _survive_ if not by interacting with other human beings?

“ _I_ have not enjoyed the company of others in your absence. In case you were wondering,” she said stiffly.

He stared at her, cup half-raised to his mouth, and the knut dropped.

“ _Clementine_ ,” he exhaled, dropping his coffee cup to the table with a clatter and reaching for her wrist. “I didn’t mean — _Merlin_ , I was talking about the _company_ of the gnarled old woman I shared a balcony with in Thrace and the olive farmer in the Peloponnese not… not _that! Never_ that!”

“Oh,” she said, startled, and a flush crept over her cheeks as she realised their misunderstanding. “ _Oh!_ I… right. So there has been… no one else…?”

“You are, and have always been, my _wife_ , Clementine. I made a vow to you,” he said solemnly. “I have never once even _imagined_ breaking that vow.”

“Oh,” she repeated in a whisper.

“And in the interest of clarity,” he said, clearing his throat. “Have you…?”

“No,” she shook her head. “Never.”

“Right. Well,” he said briskly, retracting his hand. He leaned back in his seat, crossed his legs, and took up the morning’s _Prophet_ , resting it on his lap. “I’m glad we cleared that up.”

Clementine tried but failed to hide her grin behind her teacup and Regulus wondered if her heart was soaring as high as his was in that moment. It wasn’t as if he had not had opportunities presented to him — he had been young, had appeared single, and supposed he wasn’t hideous —but he could never haven forsaken his marriage oaths knowing that he had _abandoned_ his wife. Nor had he wanted to.

But he hadn’t dared to hope that Clementine might have rejected the same opportunities. As far as anyone knew she had been made a widow. A very beautiful, very _eligible_ , eighteen-year-old widow with a name and an ancestry that would have allowed many families to overlook the fact that she had a child. And she had had at least one bachelor knocking at her door ( _damn_ that Lestrange, a thousand times over), so who could say how many other suitors would have attempted to woo her if she had given them the chance? He felt infinitely grateful for this trusting, patient woman; his very own Penelope.

“Tell me more about this olive farmer,” she smiled, having composed herself once more.

And he spent the next hour regaling her with tales of Greece, feeling his heart tug with pride every time he brought her to laughter. He promised to take her there, one day, to climb the dusty hills and get drunk on homemade ouzo and feel the crystal clear waves lap over her feet. She would love the grey donkeys and the old women making lace by hand, and the sunshine most of all.

It was only when their drinks had gone cold and their warming charms had faded (for though the sun was shining it was still April in England after all) that they made their way back inside, smiling and leaning into each other as though they had never been apart at all.

They found Carina in the kitchen, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the kitchen table in her pyjamas and covered in flour and cocoa powder while Kreacher gazed at her with a mixture of fondness and bemusement, shaking his wrinkled head. She was _trying_ to make Aunt Cass’s famous chocolate cake, she explained, but Kreacher kept _interfering_ and doing the recipe _all wrong._

“Kreacher is only telling the little Miss that Kreacher’s way is different,” he said patiently.

“ _Exactly_ ,” Carina huffed. “But I want to do it _my_ way. _Aunt Cass’s_ way.”

“Why doesn’t Kreacher make one his way, and you make another one Aunt Cassiopeia’s way, and then we’ll have two chocolate cakes — which, as everybody knows, is better than _one_ chocolate cake,” Regulus suggested brightly. Clementine’s eyes grew wide and she shook her head but it was too late. The damage had already been done.

“Brilliant, Dad!” Carina grinned and waved her wooden spoon at him. “We’ll have a competition and see whose cake is the best.”

“ _Mine, obviously,_ ” she added in a low voice at the same time as Kreacher muttered, “ _Kreacher’s, obviously._ ”

Regulus and Clementine were banned from the kitchen again and when the two cakes — one tall and perfectly round, the other… less so — he calculated that it would be less damaging in the long run to offend his house-elf, and declared Carina’s lop-sided cake the winner. She beamed, performed a noisy and energetic victory dance all around the house, and graciously allowed Regulus to lick out the bowl as a reward. He thought Clementine might have strained a muscle during all this, so strenuously was she trying to contain her laughter.

After their sugar high, the four of them had collapsed onto one of the rather comfortable couches in the living room. Carina had convinced them all to sit and watch the _television_ box with her — even Kreacher, though he only stayed until Carina became too distracted to notice his absence, which wasn’t very long at all — stating that Regulus was in desperate need of an education in something called _Disney films_. She had been scandalised that he had never used a television box before, much less watched a children’s film on it.

And it turned out she had quite the collection. They began with _Sleeping Beauty_ (“ _It’s you and mum!”_ Carina had whispered to him when the Prince had kissed a sleeping Princess Aurora) and _Snow White and the Seven Dwarves_ , and Regulus was beginning to form an argument about the horrendously negative portrayal of witchcraft in these so-called children’s films when she put on a delightful story about the friendship between a fox and a dog that was so utterly charming and captivating that he found himself blinking back tears at the end.

Clementine, however, had fallen asleep.

“Told you she was like Aurora,” Carina whispered, her breath hot and hand sticky as she cupped it around his ear. “You should kiss her to wake her up, like Prince Phillip did.”

“We’ll do it together,” he whispered back. “The magic’s more powerful that way. You kiss that cheek, and I’ll kiss this one.”

They did, and Clementine’s eyelids fluttered open as a soft, sleepy smile spread across her face. She curled into Regulus’s side and tried dutifully to keep her eyes open as Carina bounced around the couch telling them all about her favourite films. Her absolute _favourite_ , it turned out, had only been released the previous winter so she didn’t have it on video yet: it featured a princess who loved books and a singing candlestick and a terrifying beast who managed to make her fall in love with him by dancing with her. It sounded quite odd.

“Your father is good at dancing,” Clementine said drowsily.

“As good as the Beast?”

“Better.”

“Show me!”

And Regulus, still completely unable to deny his daughter a single thing that she asked of him, rose from the couch and gave her a deep, solemn bow, hand outstretched. Carina laughed wildly and gripped both his hands as she stepped onto his toes so he might lead her around the living room. Clementine lazily waved her wand in the direction of the record player and it started playing a sweet, gentle song that Regulus recognised as coming from one of the films they had just watched.

Carina was not a great dancer — but then again, she was only twelve and there was still time for her to learn — but she seemed to enjoy being twirled around and around in time to the melody. Regulus was a little nervous that she might grow dizzy or vomit considering the amount of cake she had consumed, but his daughter seemed to have a hardy constitution.

The song that the seven dwarves had sung on their way to the mine started playing and, if possible, Carina enjoyed this even more as she stomped around the room, dragging Regulus behind her by the hand and attempting to whistle along with the dwarves on the record.

And then the record player scratched onto Snow White’s big song and Carina gasped and pulled Clementine up from the couch and ordered her parents to dance. Regulus supposed he wouldn’t have had much choice in the matter even if his pulse wasn’t racing at the thought of dancing with his wife for the first time since… their wedding?

So he took one of her hands in his, guided the other to his shoulder, and held her waist. She was a little shorter than he was used to in this position, being barefoot instead of in the heels that she had worn whenever they had danced before, but it didn’t matter since the only person bearing witness and able to judge them was their daughter and by the way she was grinning and swaying along she seemed quite delighted with their slightly awkward movements.

“ _Some-daaaaaaay my prince will coooooome,_ ” Carina warbled in an uncanny imitation of Snow White’s singing voice.

“I do apologise,” Clementine said in a low voice as she looked up at him.

“Whatever for?” he replied, turning her about the room. “I am having a wonderful time.”

And as she smiled her radiant smile and rubbed circles on his shoulder with her thumb, and as he felt the warmth of her skin through the scant fabric of her nightgown — for both his girls were still in their nightclothes, having declared that _this_ Sunday was not for getting dressed — he thought that it might not be just wonderful, but possibly the _best_ day of his life.

 

It was a shame that the same couldn’t have been said about the following day, but in truth, the meeting with his paternal grandparents had taken up most of his thoughts, if not his time, that day and it had been quite a painful meeting, to say the least.

To his surprise, upon apparating to Everleigh Carina darted straight through the front door of the grand old house without waiting to be greeted by an elf. This was apparently a normal occurrence as Clementine simply followed her inside, albeit at a more sedate pace.

Regulus lingered in the hallway, noticing the new additions to the family portraits that littered the side table, while Clementine greeted Melania. His grandmother — Clementine’s great-aunt — looked greyer and more tired than he had ever seen her. And his grandfather… well, Carina was making herself comfortable on Arcturus’s _knee_ , and while he looked disgruntled at such an affront to his personal space he neither pushed her off nor objected to her calling him _Grandpa Archie_ , which was most disconcerting.

“Well, have you brought him?” came his grandfather’s commanding voice. _That_ , at least, had not changed.

Clementine turned and beckoned Regulus forwards with a smile. He took a deep breath and pulled his shoulders back and stood as tall as he could, feeling the weight of his grandfather’s rarely-approving eyes on him with each step he took.

“Grandmother,” he said, bending low to kiss Melania’s liver-spotted hand before turning to nod at Arcturus. “Grandfather.”

He was quite taken aback to see tears had formed in his grandmother’s bright blue eyes. She clutched at his face with shaking hands and told him it was like stepping back in time, like looking at a memory of his grandfather. Regulus couldn’t help but glance over at Arcturus, who had yet to take his eyes off Carina but merely scoffed and declared that he and Regulus were nothing alike.

Regulus swallowed uncomfortably and watched Clementine usher in a pair of house-elves bearing trays of tea and tiny cakes out of the corner of his eye. It wasn’t the first time that he had been compared to his grandfather, not by far, but it didn’t make him feel any less self-conscious particularly when the man in question was also in the room. Arcturus Black had always been a tall, imposing, _formidable_ man and Regulus had never quite felt like he had lived up to his name. Or particularly wanted to, in truth.

Besides, he knew he looked more like Pollux than Arcturus, as his mother’s side of the family were always eager to remind him. It had frustrated him as a child and it frustrated him even more as an adult that his aunts and uncles and grandparents were so desperate to compare him to this Black or another. As though they were constantly measuring him up and finding him lacking. Sometimes, he wished he had Sirius’s knack for brushing off all criticism instead of stewing over it for weeks on end as he was wont to do.

And so progressed an awkward and stilted tea that Carina seemed blissfully unaware of. After a short time, she was persuaded to accompany Melania on a slow turn of the gardens while Clementine attempted to mediate a conversation between Regulus and his grandfather. It turned out the old man was just as ornery as he had ever been. Really, Regulus thought, Orion had had no hope with _this_ as a blueprint for fatherhood.

“So why _have_ you returned, boy?” Arcturus barked. Clementine’s soothing presence at his side was the only thing stopping Regulus from noticeably bristling at the slight. “Your wife has been managing quite well without you.”

“Now, Uncle, I wouldn’t go that far,” Clementine said lightly.

“I defected from the Dark Lord,” Regulus sighed, weary at having to go over this story yet again. “I don’t believe that _you_ ever wished me to join his ranks, Grandfather.”

“That was your father’s decision,” he scoffed.

“I disagree. Father didn’t exactly make his opinion clear in regards to my taking the Mark. Nor did _anyone_ on this side of the family, for that matter.”

They stared at each other for a full minute.

Clementine cleared her throat and broke the silence. “Regulus is going to hand himself in to the Ministry and we—”

“Whatever for?”

“Well, Grandfather, I was a Death Eater. I believe that is still considered a crime,” Regulus said quite a bit more petulantly than he had intended.

“You are a _Black_. Blacks do not _hand themselves in_. Blacks are above the law.”

“And I suppose that’s why my cousin Bellatrix is in Azkaban as we speak. Why my brother was locked away for _years_ without a trial?”

“And you want to join them, do you? Think you’ll be much use to your precious _wife_ in Azkaban?”

“Regulus isn’t going to go to Azkaban,” Clementine said quietly. “Not if he hands himself in and freely makes his confession.”

“Are you suddenly some expert in wizarding law, girl?”

“I respectfully ask you to not address my wife in such a patronising manner, Grandfather,” Regulus said coldly, eyes blazing. “Her name is Clementine.”

“Reggie, it’s fine,” she murmured, placing her hand on his arm.

“Oh, he’s sticking up for you now, is he? Fat lot of good that did you in these years past.”

Regulus stood abruptly, furious.

“I’m leaving,” he declared.

“Reggie—“

“No, Clementine. I don’t know why I thought he would help me with this when he has _never_ helped me when I have needed him in the past. We will do this alone, as we always have. Farewell, Grandfather.”

And he stormed out of the room, feeling Clementine’s eyes burning into his back. He could hear her talking in a low voice to his grandfather as he stalked up and down the long hallway, waiting for her to leave so they could get out of this godforsaken house. He should never have agreed to this. He _knew_ nothing good would ever come of it.

“Reggie, I’m so sorry,” she said, hurrying over to him and taking hold of his hand. “I honestly thought he might—”

“Be less like himself?”

“Well, yes,” she laughed. “I still think he might come around. If only because he has a soft spot for Carina.”

“What _was_ that about? She was sat on his _knee!_ I thought I’d started hallucinating,” he said, still bewildered by that sight, as they walked out into the gardens to fetch their daughter.

“She seems to have wriggled her way into most of those old, cold Black hearts.”

“I see. Still, I shan’t be getting my hopes up for an Arcturus intervention any time soon.”

They found Carina kneeling by an enormous Flutterby bush in the ornamental gardens, gazing at it in wonder as her great-grandmother (great-great-aunt? Merlin, their family tree was getting more confusing with each generation) explained that she hoped to see it bloom within a few years, a once-in-a-century occurrence.

“Where’s Grandpa Archie?” she asked once she heard them approaching.

“Inside, sunflower. Come and say goodbye, now; it’s time we were leaving.”

Carina gave Melania a surprisingly gentle hug, and skipped back towards the house, chattering to her mother all the while.

“He has always been too hard on you, I know. You were the youngest in our family for so many years. Our last hope,” Melania said softly, tucking her hand into the crook of Regulus’s elbow as they followed at a slower pace, her cane tapping on the ground with each laborious step. “But he sees so much of himself in you, Regulus. His criticisms come from good intentions.”

“Forgive me, Grandmother, when I tell you that it certainly doesn’t feel that way,” Regulus sighed, frowning at the begonias.

“It is difficult for an old man to change his ways after so many years,” she said, and gave his arm a faint squeeze. “Now. What’s all this I hear about you handing yourself in to the Ministry?”

 

 

 

 


	16. harry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Purebloods are so weird.”

The grandfather clock — long since removed of its former deadly booby-traps — chimed sonorously from the hallway and, almost simultaneously, the large living room fireplace glowed green. Clementine set her book aside and rose from the couch, feeling quite giddy. _Finally_ they would all be home and together at last, four adults and two children under the same roof just as she had dreamed and wished and hoped for for _years_. Just as it always should have been.

Harry came through first with only the slightest stumble but wearing a rather surly expression. Clementine assumed he was exhausted after a week in Wales climbing trees and swimming in the sea and flying high above the hills without, she imagined, an enforced bedtime. As if to prove her hypothesis Harry yawned widely and knocked his glasses skew-whiff as he rubbed at red-rimmed eyes.

“Harry!” she called brightly, stepping forwards to scoop him into a tight hug before she straightened his glasses and brushed the soot from his shoulders and attempted fruitlessly to smooth down his unruly hair. “I’ve missed you, little snidget. Did you have fun in Wales?”

He was barely given chance to reply as Carina barrelled into the room and tugged at the sleeve of his jumper.

“ _Finally!_ I’ve been waiting _all day!_ Come and meet Dad, Harry, he’s _amazing_. He’s so tall and clever and he’s going to teach me to fly a horse and he said that my cake was the best cake he’d ever had and we danced and…”

Her excitable voice trailed off as she dragged Harry out of the living room and upstairs, presumably to her bedroom where she had been reading with Regulus. Clementine smiled fondly at their retreating backs and turned back to the fireplace just as Sirius stepped out, Remus right behind him, both with wands directed at levitating trunks that stacked themselves neatly in the corner of the room.

Clementine gave a loud, happy sigh and held her arms out to them, delighted to have her boys home again. She stood on her tiptoes to greet them both with a kiss to the cheek; she praised Remus for looking so well this close to the full moon (“it must be the sea air!”) and admonished Sirius for not bothering to shave since she’d last seen him.

“I like it,” he grumbled, running a hand over his stubbly jaw.

“You look like you ought to be hawking stolen goods down Knockturn.”

“Good. That’s the look I’m going for.”

“Everything is going well, then?” Remus intervened.

“Better than I dared to hope,” she beamed, feeling her cheeks ache from just how much she had been smiling over the past couple of days. “There were a few tears at the beginning but Carina is just besotted with him. And I’m… I’m very proud of how honest Reggie has been with her. About everything.”

Sirius snorted. “Where’s Harry?”

“Carina dragged him upstairs as soon as he arrived, she’s been desperate to introduce him to Reggie all week. He looked rather tired, I hope you two haven’t been letting him stay up all night.”

The two men exchanged worried looks.

“What?” she asked, hands on her hips.

“Harry… has been rather quiet. In regards to Regulus,” Remus said slowly.

“But you did tell him? About Regulus?”

“Of course we bloody told him,” Sirius sighed. “I’ll go and see if— oh, bollocks.”

The three of them tilted their heads up towards the ceiling as muffled shouts came from above them, followed by heavy footsteps and a door slamming shut. Clementine looked at Remus, alarmed, as Sirius darted from the room.

“I didn’t realise how hard he would take it,” Remus explained, running a hand over his face. Clementine realised that, actually, he looked rather pale and exhausted too, certainly not as well as she had thought when he had first stepped into the warmth of the living room.

“How hard… but… what?” she struggled to find the correct words, distracted by the commotion coming from upstairs. Remus looked at her apologetically and strode out into the hallway. The shouts grew louder, and Clementine followed.

“IT’S NOT FAIR!” yelled Harry’s disembodied voice, the strength of his accidental magic causing his amplified voice to reverberate around the entire house, the portraits lining the hallway walls to rattle and the light fittings to sputter and spark. The grandfather clock chimed again, out of time, and Remus winced.

“SHE ALREADY HAS A MUM AND NOW SHE GETS _HIM_ TOO! _MY_ MUM AND DAD _DIED_ BECAUSE OF PEOPLE LIKE HIM! HOW COME HE GETS TO COME BACK FROM THE DEAD AND THEY DON’T?!”

“Oh, that sweet boy,” Clementine gasped, _hating_ herself for not anticipating this reaction. How could she have failed to foresee that this poor child, who could barely remember his birth parents, might not be just the tiniest bit upset that Carina had miraculously been given her own father back?

“Leave them,” Remus said firmly, his hand on Clementine’s shoulder to prevent her from running upstairs to the source of the noise. “He’ll shout it out with Sirius.”

Carina and Regulus then appeared at the top of the staircase with pale, worried faces. As soon as she saw them standing there, Carina flew down the stairs towards her mother.

“He hates me!” she sobbed, flinging her arms around Clementine’s neck.

“He doesn’t hate you,” she murmured. Her heart was in her throat; what a mess they had created. “He’s just very upset.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Regulus as he walked stiffly down the stairs to join them. “I didn’t—”

“It’s not your fault,” Remus said, cutting him off with a wave of his hand. “I need to sit down. Tea, anyone?”

They all went down to the kitchen. Carina darted into Kreacher’s den to no doubt curl up under a pile of blankets until this whole thing blew over; Kreacher looked very concerned at her distress and went to fetch a small stack of books before holing himself up in there with her. Remus sat at the table with his head in his hands and Regulus leaned against the kitchen counter while Clementine fixed up the tea. None of them spoke.

“How long do we have?” Clementine asked eventually, carrying the tea service over to the table.

“A few hours,” Remus replied as he glanced at his watch.

“Until…?” asked Regulus, glancing between them.

“The full moon,” came their unified response.

“Ah.”

Clementine darted nervous glances between the ceiling and the boy she knew was pacing up there, hurting, and the little cupboard in the corner where Clementine was curled up, also hurting.

“We should have come back yesterday,” Remus groaned. He ran a hand over his face, his shoulders sagging. Clementine summoned an anti-ache potion from the cabinet and poured a large dose into Remus’s tea, hoping it might ease some of his symptoms.

“It’s alright. No one was to know.”

“We should have known. _I_ should have known.”

“Regardless of how we should have handled things, it’s happened now and there’s nothing we can do to change it,” Clementine said firmly and pushed his mug closer towards him. She hated the gloominess and self-contempt that hung around Remus like a black cloud on the night of the full moon. She had had much experience in dealing with the Blacks’ particular brand of melancholy over the years but with Remus it felt so different and so _wrong_ and not so easily settled.

“I’ll go and fetch Sirius,” she continued, because _someone_ needed to be decisive about this and it was looking like it would have to be her. “You can go back to the cottage together and prepare. Regulus, you take Carina to Cassiopeia’s for the night. I’ll stay here with Harry and we can all reconvene tomorrow.”

“No. You three should be together. I’ll go back by myself and Sirius can stay with Harry.”

“I don’t think it would make Harry feel any better to know that he was the reason you were alone for a transition,” Clementine said, not unsympathetically. She patted Remus’s hand and wrapped his fingers around the mug. He scowled at her, but took a sip anyway.

She stood to go and see how Sirius and Harry were getting on but she needn’t have bothered, because she met Sirius at the bottom of the stairs.

“He’s calm,” Sirius said to the room at large. “But would like to be left alone for a while.”

“Good,” Clementine smiled. “Now, I think you ought to go back with Remus before it gets any later. Regulus and Carina are going to Cassiopeia’s, and I’ll stay here with Harry.”

“I think Reg and Carina should stay here too,” Sirius frowned.

“I am more than capable of handling an eleven-year-old boy on my own,” she said, folding her arms.

“He’s very… powerful, when he’s upset.”

“I’ve dealt with far worse than Harry Potter, Sirius.”

“Look,” he murmured, leaning closer so they wouldn’t be overheard. She caught Regulus looking at them suspiciously from the other side of the room. “I don’t mean that. Just… Harry’s not the only one who’s upset by this. Carina’ll need you tonight. And Reg needs you too. You know what he’s like. He’ll blame himself and start spiralling and then he’ll be in a grump tomorrow and probably do something stupid.”

She stared at him. Because he was right, Regulus _would_ blame himself. He had always blamed himself for anything that went even the slightest bit wrong, always insisted on taking responsibility for things that were entirely out of his control.

“Alright,” she sighed. “They’ll stay.”

“Good girl,” he grinned and kissed the top of her head. She rolled her eyes but he was already striding across the room to where Remus was hunched over his mug of half-drunk tea. “Come along, Moony my love, it’s time we both slipped into something a little more furry.”

 

 

Clementine let the children mope for a half hour before she intervened to try and sort things out. Carina was easy: the suggestion of a film and popcorn and a cuddle on the sofa with her father was more than enough to coax her out of Kreacher’s den. Clementine felt a little guilty about exploiting Regulus in such a way, but if it made her life a little easier then so be it. Besides, he looked just as delighted at the suggestion as Carina did, so she didn’t worry herself too much about it. Harry would be a rather more difficult task.

She knocked lightly on his bedroom door.

“Go away,” came his muffled response, but since it lacked the fire of his usual protestations she thought she would chance entering. The door wasn’t locked, which was a good sign.

She had expected his room to be in a complete state considering his impressive (if spooky) display of accidental magic earlier but in truth it was no messier than usual. Harry was lying in the middle of his wide bed, curled up in a ball beneath the covers — she was sure they had been Tutshill blue before, but a little change in colour never harmed anyone. His hand was poking out from under the sheets, wrapped tightly around his wand. Clementine closed the door quietly behind her and crossed the room.

“May I sit down?”

Harry didn’t respond. Clementine sat carefully at the edge of his bed and reached a hand out to where she thought his shoulder ought to be. He didn’t move, but she heard a sniff.

“I’ve gone about this all wrong, haven’t I?” she said gently.

“S’not your fault,” he muttered.

“I think it is. I was so focused on how Carina might react to Regulus coming home that I didn’t think about how it might affect everybody else.”

He shifted ever so slightly and she squeezed his shoulder before pulling her hand away again and resting it in her lap. She looked around his room, at the Quidditch figurines flying around in the case he and Sirius had built together, the rows of haphazardly stacked books (both magical and muggle) that Remus helped him collect because _money spent on books is never money wasted_ , and the piles of dog-eared records that had once belonged to James and Lily.

“I didn’t think about how Regulus isn’t just my husband and Carina’s father,” she said quietly. “He’s Sirius’s brother, too. I didn’t think about how Sirius might be just as upset as I had been upon his return, perhaps _more_ upset considering how bad their relationship had turned. I didn’t think about Remus and how he might not appreciate a stranger arriving in his home and upsetting his routines. I didn’t think about _you_ , sweetheart, and I’m very sorry. It was wrong of me.”

She heard movement behind her but didn’t look around. Harry was like a frightened young animal at times, skittish and prone to running and shutting down, and if he did that now she would have no hope of reconciling with him tonight.

“It’s alright for you to feel angry and upset, Harry. You were right before when you said that it wasn’t fair. It _isn’t_ fair. What happened to your mother and father was a terrible tragedy and if I could bring them back for you I would. In an instant.”

“But you can’t. Because they’re dead,” Harry said in a quiet, bitter voice. “And Regulus isn’t.”

“No, he isn’t. He never was.”

Harry sat beside her now, mimicking her pose with his hands in his lap and staring at the same piece of wall. There were photographs of his parents stuck there. Some picturing him as a baby, some from their wedding, others from school and moments of happiness snatched during the War, with Sirius and Remus, Mary and Dorcas and Marlene, Benjy and Caradoc and an amused-looking Minerva McGonagall at what looked to be their graduation. There was even a rare one of Lily and Clementine (Clementine had been so afraid of photographs back then, so afraid that a copy would slip into the wrong hands and give her up), each with a tiny baby bundled in their arms.

“I’m sorry I shouted,” he murmured. “You were happy he was back and I ruined it.”

“You didn’t ruin anything, snidget. Happy is just one of _many_ emotions I’ve been feeling these past few weeks.”

He looked up at her questioningly. Clementine smiled and slipped an arm around his shoulders.

“I’m happy that Regulus is home, yes. But I’m also angry that he lied to me for all these years. Frustrated that he didn’t trust me with the truth. Relieved that he is still alive. Jealous that Carina has loved him so quickly and easily. Scared about what might happen once the rest of the world knows he has returned. Anxious about what our future might be.”

Harry looked thoughtful as he looked down at the sock-strewn floor and kicked his feet against the side of his bed. “Do you think he’ll go to Azkaban?”

“No, I don’t think so. I hope not, anyway.”

“I hope he doesn’t either.”

“Thank you,” she said, pulling him into a hug and kissing the top of his head. “But whatever happens, Harry, nothing is going to change between you and me. Or you and Sirius or Remus or Carina. We’re still going to be a family and we’re still going to live here and spend holidays in Wales, together. The only thing that will change is that you’ll get a new uncle. One who happens to have been a rather excellent Seeker.”

“Yeah, I know. I saw his name in the Trophy Room at school when I was cleaning,” Harry confessed.

“And why were you cleaning the Trophy Room?”

“No reason,” he said lightly, and she could feel his cheek rise in a smile against her shoulder. “Thanks for the Tutshill jumper, by the way.”

“That’s quite alright,” she said, choosing to ignore his abrupt change of subject. She would leave the matter of his detentions to Remus. “It was the one you wanted?”

He nodded, sniffed, and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Clementine looked at him, eyebrow raised, and he mumbled an apology. She reached for a scrap of parchment lying on the floor and handed it to him.

“Would you like to show me how much your Transfiguration has improved this term? See if you can transform that into a handkerchief for me.”

Harry sat up straighter and set his jaw as he glared at the parchment in determination. He waved his wand, narrowed his eyes, and the parchment wiggled. Another wave, and it became a plain but soft-looking handkerchief (if one ignored the papery corner, which Clementine did) in the same nondescript beige colour of blank parchment.

“Wonderful, Harry!” she praised. He beamed back at her. “Now, blow your nose. You no longer have an excuse to use your sleeve in place of a handkerchief.”

He scowled a rather Remus-like scowl and blew his nose noisily before tossing the scrunched up handkerchief onto his bedside table.

“Now, Carina is rather impatient to watch a film and insisted that I ask if you would like to join us. Are you feeling up to it?”

“Will Regulus be there?” he asked, picking at a loose thread on the knee of his jeans.

“Yes, he will.”

“Well… alright, then.”

Harry took a deep breath, reached for his glasses where they had been thrown onto his bedside table, and walked beside Clementine as they made their way back downstairs. He hung back a little when they reached the living room and heard Regulus and Carina talking together.

“Regulus,” Clementine called, “I’d like you to meet our nephew, Harry Potter.”

Regulus glanced over his shoulder and quickly stood when he saw them, walking around the sofa to hold his hand out to Harry to shake.

“Harry, this is your Uncle Regulus,” Clementine said and squeezed Harry’s shoulder.

“Hello, Harry,” said Regulus. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Hello,” said Harry in a quiet voice. “I’m sorry for shouting at you before. I’m… I’m glad you’re not dead.”

“That’s quite alright, Harry. I’m glad of it too.”

Regulus winked, and Harry gave him a shy smile before looking down at his feet again. Carina’s face popped up from the sofa, arms folded across the back of it.

“Can we watch the film now?” she whined.

“Yes, Carina,” Clementine sighed, and ushered Harry over to the sofa. He immediately sat in the space next to Carina, Regulus on her other side, and Clementine watched as he bumped his shoulder against Carina’s and gave her a whispered apology. Carina shrugged, apparently already having moved on from whatever it was that had upset her in the first place, and plopped a large bowl of sticky popcorn onto his lap.

“Harry, guess what! Dad has _never_ had popcorn before.”

“ _What?_ ” Harry said, incredulous, looking at Regulus as though he were a different species.

“I know, right. Purebloods are _so_ weird.”

Clementine stifled a laugh and took her seat beside Harry as the film began to play.

“Carina, you’re also a pureblood,” Regulus pointed out.

“Yeah, and she’s pretty weird,” Harry grinned. Carina gave a noise of indignation and shoved him. The bowl of popcorn wobbled and Clementine held it aloft before it could spill all over the floor and give Kreacher a premature heart attack.

“Settle down, please,” she said.

“That’s you,” Harry said to Carina in a loud whisper, pointing at one of Cinderella’s step-sisters on the television screen.

“Yeah well, that’s you,” Carina whispered back, pointing to the other one. “ _Drizella._ ”

“I had an Aunt Drizella once,” Regulus said blithely. “Draco Malfoy’s late grandmother, I believe.”

The children snorted and exchanged devilish grins.

“I think you mean Druella, dear,” Clementine corrected.

“Ah, yes. _Druella de Vil,_ perhaps,” he said, raising his eyebrows at Harry and Carina. They burst out laughing again and Clementine smiled at him over the tops of their heads. Back to normality. For now, at least.

 


	17. Andromeda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re hiding something,” she said, fixing him with narrowed eyes.

Clementine still wasn’t the best at apparating but at least he didn’t feel like he’d been put through a sausage grinder like he had whenever he’d had to side-along with her in the past. They leaned on each other as they landed in soft grass and Regulus took a deep breath to ward off the nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach (from apparition or nerves, who could tell) and took in his surroundings.

Andromeda’s home was about as far from her parents’ stately townhouse as he could have imagined. It was a small, homely-looking stone cottage covered in creeping vines and window boxes that exploded with colourful flowers pouring out of them and down the walls and right across the front garden. Clementine led him down a short twisting stone path, bordered with tall hollyhocks and foxgloves, to a door painted a bright, sunflower yellow. She pressed a white button next to the door and it played an odd, tinny little tune.

A moment later and the door opened. Andromeda’s dark eyes landed on Clementine first and she gave a smile of relief, but when they drifted to Regulus she went as rigid as if she had been carved from marble. Her appearance was a lot like he had remembered — tall, with the defined cheekbones and full lips characteristic of their family — but after two decades her dark brown hair was now flecked with grey and she had formed shallow wrinkles around her eyes and mouth.

“SIRIUS!” she yelled suddenly, without moving her eyes from Regulus. He flinched and glanced at Clementine, but she looked just as alarmed as he felt.

“Hmm?” Sirius popped his head around a door leading off from the narrow hallway, looking far too pleased with himself when he saw who was standing on the doorstep. “Oh, hi Clem. Reg. Dinner’s nearly ready! Ted’s on kitchen duty and the potatoes are looking _grand._ ”

“Sirius, I thought you were supposed to tell Andromeda that Regulus was coming?” asked Clementine, clearly irritated.

“I did!”

“You most certainly did _not!_ ” Andromeda hissed, wheeling around to face him.

“Are they here? Move! Lemme see Clem’s new bloke!” called an unfamiliar voice. Sirius was shoved aside and a pink-haired, wide-eyed girl popped out of the doorway and came to stand next to Andromeda. Her daughter, Regulus realised. “Wotcher, I’m Tonks! _Fine,_ Mum, I’m _Dora_. Blimey, you look an awful lot like—”

“Yes, this is my husband Regulus,” Clementine sighed. “No, he isn’t dead. Yes, Sirius was supposed to tell you all this last week. Now, can we please go inside before someone sees us?”

Andromeda stood to the side and Clementine stalked into the house, making a beeline for Sirius who — quite wisely, in Regulus’s opinion — had disappeared further inside.

“I do apologise,” Regulus said awkwardly, grimacing. “We really did think that Sirius was going to warn you. I imagine this is quite distressing.”

“Merlin’s tits, this is brilliant! I’ve got a brand new cousin!” Dora grinned. She was watching him curiously, head tipped to the side in a manner all too reminiscent of Sirius. It was unnerving.

“Nymphadora _please_ stop using such vulgar language in front of the children,” Andromeda scolded.

“The kids are outside Mum, calm down. Tits isn’t even a swear word anyway! God you’re so _old_. C’mon Reg — can I call you Reg?” Dora linked her arm with his and pulled him inside the house, past the room Sirius and Clementine had gone into. He caught a glimpse of them arguing in low voices in front of a television box similar to the one they had at home — was this where they had gotten the idea from? Andromeda’s husband had been a muggle-born wizard, hence her… departure from the family. Dora guided him down the hallway and into the kitchen, which was connected to the dining room and a small conservatory filled with more flowers.

“This is my dad, Ted,” Dora announced, gesturing towards the portly man stirring something over the stove. “And I guess you’ll know Remus already.” Lupin gave him a wave, oven gloves over his hands, and nudged Ted to the side so he could inspect something inside the oven.

“Oi, Dad!” Dora said, louder, and Ted turned around. “Look who Clem brought to dinner! It’s Mum’s cousin, Regulus!”

“Oh yes? Hello, son. Which cousin are you, them?” Ted asked, wiping his hand on the tea towel slung over his shoulder before offering it to Regulus to shake.

“He’s _Sirius’s brother,_ ” Dora explained with an eye roll. “The one who _died._ ”

“Well I hope you’ll forgive me for saying that you don’t look particularly dead there, Regulus. Do you eat lamb?”

“Er, yes?”

“Excellent! How’s it looking, Remus lad?”

“I’d give it ten more minutes, Ted.”

“Perfect. Dora, why don’t you go and see if the littl’uns have gotten their hands on all those eggs yet?”

Dora rolled her eyes again and stomped over to the dining room window, clearly annoyed by her father’s lack of enthusiasm in regards to Regulus’s reappearance. Regulus, on the other hand, was more than happy to not be scrutinised on the subject for once. Lupin came to his side with a bottle of butterbeer which he accepted gratefully, though he thought he might be in need of something a little stronger before the afternoon was out.

“OI, KIDS!”

Regulus and Lupin whipped their heads around to see Dora half-hanging out of the dining room window, presumably yelling at Carina and Harry.

“They’re still looking for the Occamy egg,” Dora announced as she slammed the window shut again.

“Ah, that _was_ a good hiding spot Dora,” said Ted. “Remus, do you mind sorting the veg while I finish off the gravy?”

“There isn’t a genuine Occamy egg out there, is there?” Regulus asked as he moved over to the window, watching Harry and Carina tussle over something next to a large rhododendron bush.

“Merlin, no! Honeydukes do a chocolate one, looks just like the real thing. Here, sit by me,” she demanded, taking a seat at the table and gesturing to the one beside her. “What’s it like, being not-dead?”

“Preferable to the alternative,” he replied, watching as Remus brought a steaming platter of crispy roast potatoes to the table. Sirius slunk in behind him, snatching a potato and popping it straight in his mouth as he sat down opposite Dora.

“Shit that’s hot,” he spluttered and took a swig of Regulus’s butterbeer.

“Did you get a telling off?” asked Dora with a smirk.

“They bloody double-teamed me,” Sirius grumbled. “It was just a joke!”

Dora scrunched up her face and Regulus looked on in fascination as it morphed into a near-perfect replica of her mother’s, and wagged her finger at Sirius. Sirius snorted, and Regulus’s fascination turned to horror as Dora’s face shifted into his _wife’s._

“Oh Dora, I wish you wouldn’t do that! It makes me feel all queasy,” said Clementine, patting her own face as she came into the room and saw Dora mimicking her. Dora made a hasty apology and returned to what Regulus assumed was her natural face while Clementine placed a couple of bottles of wine on the table and took the seat opposite him, to Sirius’s right.

“Do you have to sit there?” Sirius asked. “You’ll be bumping into me all dinner, it’s _very_ annoying.”

“Don’t be such a child, it’s not as if I _only_ eat with my left hand.”

“You kind of do though.”

“No I don’t! And stop eating all the potatoes before we’ve even started!” she scolded, slapping his hand away from the platter.

“Who’s eating all the potatoes?” asked Andromeda, bringing through two enormous dishes of carrots and greens, but she didn’t stop for an answer. “Nymphadora, call Harry and Carina in please. Not — _Nymphadora!_ ”

But it was too late, Dora was already bellowing out of the window again. The children traipsed in soon after, red-cheeked and with windswept hair. Carina had mud on the skirt of her dress and Harry had a grass stain on each elbow but none of the other adults — with the exception of Andromeda who raised an eyebrow but declined to comment — seemed to notice or care. It was a refreshing change from any family dinner he had previously experienced, where the children were expected to sit still and silent in perfectly clean and pressed formal attire.

He was delighted when Carina chose to sit beside him, and pulled her Easter basket onto her lap to show him all the eggs she had found.

“They’re all chocolate, obviously,” she explained. “But look at this one, it’s just like a dragon egg! Harry said it’s a Swedish Short-Snout egg. Isn’t it pretty?”

“Very pretty,” he agreed, impressed at how the confectioner had managed to make the chocolate shimmer and shine, just like the opalescent scales of the dragon’s egg.

“Dora’s friend Charlie is a _dragonologist,_ ” she said carefully, sounding out each syllable to make sure she pronounced them correctly. “Isn’t he, Dora?”

“Yep!” she grinned, leaning back in her chair so she could see Carina. “Well, he will be once he’s finished his coursework this year. He’s out at that big sanctuary in Romania.”

“Oh, really? I spent some time in Romania last year.”

“Did you see the dragons too, Dad?”

“Er, no,” Regulus admitted, realising too late that he hadn’t yet told Carina about his time in the Balkans tracking what he was now convinced was the Dark Lord’s wraith. Fortunately he was saved from further questions by the arrival of Remus with the gravy boats and Ted with the centrepiece, an enormous hunk of roast lamb that smelled so delicious he was actually feeling hungry for once.

There were murmurs of approval from around the table and as everyone settled down and began passing bowls and plates around, Clementine poured the adults all a glass of wine and allowed Carina and Harry to run into the kitchen for a butterbeer each.

“Sirius, that is a rather large plate,” Andromeda remarked.

“I’m a growing boy, cousin.”

“Yeah, growing _outwards,_ ” Dora sniggered.

“And there’s nowt wrong with that!” said Ted, and leaned back in his chair to pat his own rotund stomach.

“Ted, this looks absolutely delicious,” Clementine said, inhaling deeply as the platter of lamb passed beneath her nose.

“You’d better get a move on before Padfoot eats it all,” Lupin teased, handing her the carrots.

Regulus watched and participated with slight detachment as plates were passed around and deposited, half-empty, back in the middle of the table. As they all raised their glasses and bottles in cheers and expressed thanks for Ted and Remus’s efforts in the kitchen. As they all fall into companionable silence for a few moments, just while they took their first bites, and then slipped back into their noisy conversations. It felt so utterly alien to any other Black Easter dinner: everyone around _this_ table seemed comfortable and accepted and _happy._

“Dora,” Carina called, stretching across Regulus’s plate to tap her arm and get her attention. “Do a face for Dad.”

“Oh, I dunno. I think I freaked him out when I did your Mum’s,” Dora said with a wink.

“It’s _weird_ isn’t it!”

He nodded, and copied his daughter’s screwed up nose. She laughed loudly, catching Clementine’s attention, and quickly removed her elbows from the table. Clementine gave her a small nod of approval and turned back to her conversation with Remus. Then Andromeda drew Carina’s attention away with questions about school and although his cousin had yet to make eye contact with him since their doorstep encounter, Regulus reasoned with himself that there was plenty of time for that reconciliation later. He turned back to Dora.

“I hear you are training to be an Auror?”

“Mm!” she nodded, and quickly swallowed her food. “I’m just in my first year of training. It’s kinda boring so far, just like really long Defence classes I guess, but next week we’re going to do some more intense duelling training with Mad-Eye in something called the Light and Shadow Room which is meant to be _amazing._ ”

“Mad-Eye?” he asked, unfamiliar with the name.

“Moody. Alastor Moody? He’s got this…” she gestured to her face, making her left eye bulge out of her head and turn a bright electric blue colour. It was most unnerving.

“Ah.”

He didn’t recognise the ‘mad’ eye, but he _did_ recognise the name. Alastor Moody had been a particularly tenacious Auror during the war and while Regulus had only crossed the grizzled Scot’s path once in battle, it had been one time more than he would have liked. And, Regulus had since learned that it had been this _Mad-Eye_ who had killed Evan. Evan, who had once been the closest thing he had to a friend.

“Do you know— oh, shit. Of course you do. The war.”

“He is a formidable fighter. I’m sure you will learn a lot from him,” Regulus said, forcing a smile as he pushed a piece of broccoli around his plate.

“Er, yeah.”

There was an awkward pause.

“I expect your metamorphic abilities will be a useful skill for an Auror?” he said lightly.

“Listen, I’m sorry, I… I just forgot. About… y’know. I know what happened in the war. I mean, I dunno why you’re back, but Mum was really sad when she thought you’d died and she said she always hoped you would find a way out of it and she never thought you were… y’know, like _them_. Like her sister. And I reckon that if someone as nice as Clem married you then you couldn’t’ve been all that bad.”

She beamed at him, and Regulus felt a little off-balanced by her speech. “Right. Er, thank you?”

“But yeah, being a metamorphmagus is _dead_ useful. Robards — he’s in charge of all us firsties — reckons I’ll get top marks in Concealment and Disguise next year. The others are bummed by it but if you’ve got it flaunt it, right?”

“Yes,” he nodded, not entirely understanding what she was talking about but feeling that agreement was the appropriate response. “Absolutely.”

Dora talked his ear off for the rest of the meal. She had Sirius’s gift for story-telling (and his proclivity for coarse language) and told him many amusing stories about her fellow Aurors-in-training and life inside the Ministry. He tried to catch Andromeda’s eye more than a few times but she appeared to be deliberately avoiding him. He could understand. He would probably be doing the same in her position.

But the meal passed surprisingly quickly and soon Sirius was the only one still trying valiantly to squeeze down the last few roast potatoes.

“Thank you, Ted. That roast lamb was even more delicious than Kreacher’s,” Regulus said, leaning back with a contented sigh.

“Now that _is_ high praise,” Clementine smiled.

“Damn right. Reg is _obsessed_ with Kreacher. Wasn’t he your first kiss?”

“No—!” Regulus protested, to snorts of laughter from around the table. Sirius popped the last potato in his mouth, looking mightily pleased with himself.

“I heard _your_ first kiss was with Filch,” Clementine said, raising an eyebrow at Sirius.

“He wishes,” Sirius retorted and stuck his tongue out at her.

“Who was your first kiss, Dad?”

“Well,” Regulus hesitated, and cleared his throat. “Er, your mother, actually.”

There was a chorus of _ahhs_ around the table and Regulus felt his cheeks grow warm. Sirius stuck his finger in his mouth and pretended to vomit; Regulus aimed a kick at him underneath the table.

“Was Dad your first kiss too?” Carina asked, turning her attention to Clementine.

“I think that’s enough inappropriate questions for one meal,” she said carefully as she folded her napkin in her lap. “More wine, anyone?”

“Go on,” she insisted. “Dad said his!”

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence and Clementine took a deep drink of wine.

“What?” said Carina, looking around the table. “Who was it? Was it Dumbledore _?_ Oh my _god_ was it _Snape?!_ ”

Clementine’s eyes met Regulus’s briefly, as if to apologise, before turning back to Carina. “My first kiss,” she said calmly, though he could see her hands were now hidden beneath the table. “Was with Rabastan Lestrange.”

There was silence for a moment more, during which Regulus was sure the whole table could hear his heart thumping. And then Ted slapped his hands on the table, rose from his seat, and declared that they ought to clear the dishes ready for pudding. The others stood and grabbed plates and bowls and cutlery all at once in their haste to get away from the awkwardness. Clementine made to stand too, but Remus pushed her gently back down. Carina was staring at her with watery eyes.

“I’m sorry, Mum, I didn’t know!”

“It’s alright, it’s not your fault.”

Carina’s chair clattered to the floor and she dashed around the table to launch herself onto Clementine’s lap, arms flung around her neck. Clementine held her tightly and kissed the side of her head.

“Don’t cry, it happened a long long time ago.”

“But you hate him!” Carina wailed, her voice muffled.

“I didn’t hate him when it happened.”

“Did you love him?”

Regulus made a choking noise.

“No,” Clementine said firmly, meeting his eyes across the table.

“Then why did you kiss him?”

“Sometimes,” she sighed. “You might feel like you want to kiss someone even if you don’t love them.”

“Why?”

“Well, I suppose because it feels nice.”

“Does it feel nice when you kiss Uncle Remus and Uncle Sirius?”

Regulus almost spat out his wine. _What?_

“Er— that’s a different sort of kiss, sunflower,” Clementine explained gently, her mouth twitching as she tried not to laugh.

“Because it’s a kiss on the cheek and not on the lips?”

“Yes, I suppose. It’s like how I kiss you and Harry — a family kiss.”

“Right… but Dad’s family too?”

“He is, yes. But I kissed him before he was family.”

“On the lips?”

“Yes.”

Carina looked thoughtful as she shifted on Clementine’s lap so she could glance between both her parents, but she seemed to accept this explanation. “I wish I had my notebook with me,” she murmured.

 

A few hours later, after dessert had been demolished and Harry and Carina had found the elusive Occamy egg, Andromeda cornered Regulus in the garden as the others trooped back inside to sprawl out in the living room. She led him towards a wooden bench that overlooked a patch of wildflowers and as he sat he became aware of the signature vibrations of a warming charm that must have been imbued within the wood. A clever trick.

“The last time I saw you, you were younger than Harry and Carina are now,” Andromeda said bluntly as she sat down beside him.

“That is an odd thought,” he mused, glancing towards the house and the blurred shapes moving beyond the windows.

“Much has changed.”

He inclined his head and, after a beat or two, added lamely, “Dora is charming. As is Ted. You… your family is charming.”

“I’m not seeking your approval.”

Of course she wasn’t. Why had he said that? She didn’t need to hear that from him of all people. They had never had a close relationship; he had been a child, the baby of the family, and besides it had always been Sirius that she had been fond of. They would always sneak away at family gatherings, giggling together in corners, no doubt plotting some mischief. It was Cissa who had looked out for him, at home and at school, but now…

They both sighed.

“You look remarkably like Grandfather,” she said, staring resolutely ahead of her. “It’s unnerving. I apologise.”

“So everyone keeps telling me.”

“Have you spoken with my sister?”

“No,” he sighed, understanding that Andromeda meant Narcissa and not her older sister Bellatrix, who was locked away in Azkaban and would be for some time, with any luck. Regulus dreaded to think how she would react to his betrayal of her Dark Lord. “Clementine wrote to her, but we received no response. From what I understand of the situation a reconciliation seems unlikely.”

“She was always fond of you. There may be hope, if you can prise her away from that husband of hers.”

There was another silence. Regulus watched a fuzzy bumblebee flitter from flower to flower in the late afternoon glow.

“Where did you go?”

“Greece, mainly.”

“And when did you return?”

“A few weeks ago.”

The sounds of laughter came drifting out through the open kitchen window.

“Clementine and Carina seem happy.”

“I intend to keep them that way,” Regulus said sincerely.

Andromeda looked at him sharply. “What happened, cousin? I know what you’re concealing beneath your shirt sleeves; I know that you followed You-Know-Who. Clementine tells me that the situation isn’t as it appears but forgive me for still harbouring suspicions. I know what your mother was like and I know what Bellatrix was like but they were far easier on you than they were on your brother and Sirius _never_ believed the rubbish they spouted. What happened?”

Regulus sighed and fiddled with his sleeves. “I imagine that the picture Clementine painted was more forgiving than I deserve,” he said quietly. “There was some pressure, some coercion, from Mother and Bella and from within Hogwarts but I joined his ranks of my own free will. I made the choice for myself.”

“You knew what you were getting into.”

“Not entirely. I thought, perhaps naively, that it was… well, Lucius called it a brotherhood. Said it was a chance to uphold our traditions and be a part of something greater than ourselves.”

She huffed. “That _was_ naive.”

“Once I understood what it really was, I realised the mistake I had made. Clementine was incredibly understanding. Merciful. Sometimes… sometimes I worry that she is too forgiving.”

“Hufflepuffs,” she sighed.

“She helped me formulate a plan, that might enable me to escape but I worried that it would put her even more at risk. I should never have married her. Doing so put her in the spotlight, made everyone aware of what she meant to me, gave them a _reason_ to hurt her in order to punish me. I knew what they were capable of.”

“So you ran.”

“I ran.”

“And you didn’t consider taking Clementine with you? _Your wife?_ ”

“I was scared,” Regulus sighed, running a hand over his face. Gods, he was tired. “I imagined that they would find me, sooner or later. I thought Clementine’s best chance was to stay here, as my widow, where she could claim to have had no involvement in any of my actions — to both sides of the war. I hoped that Narcissa and Cassiopeia would watch out for her. I could never have imagined the things she would suffer.”

“You could have, if you had not been so naive.”

Regulus frowned and looked down at his hands. Could he? Yes, the Dark Lord had never showed mercy to any of his followers but he had also never extended his rages to their wives, as far as he was aware — had Cissa ever suffered for Lucius’s failings? Had their child? Should he have foreseen what would befall Clementine?

“But now you are back,” Andromeda said bluntly.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“It… seemed like the right time,” he said carefully.

“You’re hiding something,” she said, fixing him with narrowed eyes for the first time. He swallowed, but stayed firm. “Does Clementine know the real reason for your return?”

“Yes. As does Sirius.”

“And they have accepted that reason?”

“I believe I would not be sitting here if they had not.”

Andromeda snorted. “That’s true enough. Very well. I trust their judgement — for now,” she rose, and gave him one last fierce glare that was all Black. “But I’ll be watching.”

Regulus nodded, because what else could he do? Andromeda left him on the bench and he turned his gaze back out towards the garden and to the sun that was beginning its descent to make way for the waning moon. His right hand moved to his left forearm and he imagined that he could feel it burning.

Which mistake had been the first to set this whole sorry tale in motion? Was it when he had accepted Severus’s tentative ally-ship (not friendship, never something so sentimental as _friendship_ for that boy) or when he had started to distance himself from Sirius? Was it when he had begun parroting Mother and Bella in a misguided attempt to impress Evan and Finn? Was it before then, when he had begged the Sorting Hat to place him in Slytherin? Or before then, even; was there some mistake from his distant past, lurking about in the fog of his early memories, that had set him on this wretched path?

Why could he not have been more like Sirius?


	18. albus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I assume you have checked that this man is indeed your husband, and not an imposter?”

“Where’s Reg?”

“Upstairs. I believe he’s taking a bath.”

“Should’ve guessed,” Sirius said lightly as he crossed the room. He drummed his fingers on the desk as he strolled past her, disturbing her haphazard piles of parchment. “Lawyers usually leave me wanting to scrub my skin off too.”

“Mm,” Clementine hummed in agreement, distracted as she scribbled a note down in the margin of the page in front of her. _Based on 1982 data; more accurate estimate available?_

“What did old Orpington have to say, then?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t there.”

“What do you mean you weren’t there?” he asked in surprise. “Where were you?”

“Here,” she glanced up from the desk. Sirius was leaning against the windowsill, arms folded across his chest. “ _Trying_ to work.”

“Huh. Thought you’d’ve wanted to know what they were planning.”

“They’re planning how to keep Regulus out of Azkaban,” she sighed. “If there’s anything else to know, he will tell me.”

“Will he?”

Clementine looked up at him again, her quill hovering over the parchment mid-sentence. She would be lying if she said the thought hadn’t crossed her mind, that Regulus would — as he had in the past — keep something from her if he thought the truth would harm her in some way. But he’d had his reasons, and she had to trust that _he_ would trust _her_ this time around.

“Yes. He will,” she said firmly.

“Alright,” shrugged Sirius, and turned his head to look out of the window. The study faced the house’s long back garden, stretching out towards the row of houses on the street that ran parallel to Grimmauld Place though, of course, it was completely concealed from their view. It was a peaceful spot and in the warmer months you could hear birdsong drifting through the open window. Now the tall apple tree was tapping against the glass, its branches just beginning to sprout their beautiful delicate blossom.

Clementine returned to her work.

“Why aren’t you in the bath with him?”

She gave a heavy sigh and finally cast her quill aside, casting Sirius the most withering look she could manage.

“Oh _Clemmie_ ,” he said pityingly. “Are you telling me that you haven’t shag—”

“Don’t finish that sentence if you wish to keep your tongue, Sirius.”

“How rude. I was just curious,” he said with a lazy grin, tilting his head to the side. “How far have you—”

“As if I would tell _you_. Whatever happens privately between my husband and I is none of your concern,” she said primly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some rather important business to attend to.”

“Fine, fine. But if you need any tips—”

“ _Sirius._ ”

He held his hands up in surrender and took a step away from the window, dropping himself into the chair on the other side of her desk, and craned his neck to get a better look at the parchment she was scribbling all over. “So what’s this business that’s more important than feeling up your husband?”

“Oh, just the draft proposal for the Lycanthrope Act,” she said lightly.

“ _Stop,_ ” he breathed, snatching the page from underneath her hand so he could read it properly. He looked so delighted she couldn’t even bring herself to be annoyed that his swiping had made her score a thick black line across the page with her quill. “This is it? Are you _serious?_ ”

“No, you’re Sirius,” she smiled, and he gave a sharp bark of laughter at the hackneyed joke.

“Does Moony know?” he asked as his eyes raced over the neat, printed writing.

“Not yet. I didn’t want to get his hopes up… I had expected it to be quashed already, if I’m honest. I’ve had to call in a _lot_ of favours with Lucinda to even get it to this stage.”

“You should tell him.”

“I will, of course. It would be terribly rude to take this any further without consulting the only lycanthrope in the family. I’d like his advice on a few things, anyway.”

Clementine had been working on this Lycanthrope Act, on and off, for the past few years. At first the Werewolf Advisory Group had just been one of the many beneficiaries of her philanthropic efforts after the war but once the first six months had passed and they realised she wasn’t about to cut off their funding (they weren’t used to receiving any sort of support, and quite suspicious of her intentions at first) they had invited her to sit in on a few meetings.

They’d taken her to visit the Dai Llewellyn Ward at St Mungo’s, where those unfortunate enough to be forced to seek medical treatment were kept. They’d taught her the differences between Beast and Being classification and warned her about the dreadful anti-werewolf propagandists within the Ministry itself. They’d explained why most lycanthropes were unable to take Wolfsbane regularly enough for it to have the desired effect and why it was so difficult for many of them to find a safe place to transform.

She hadn’t realised how fortunate Remus had been to have even been permitted to attend Hogwarts, because many witches and wizards with his condition had never completed their formal education and struggled to find jobs in the wizarding world or even heal themselves after their brutal transformations.

And now Clementine was using her contacts at the Ministry and beyond to help put together a proposal that would, with a bit of luck, grant lycanthropes rights and freedoms and, most importantly, _hope_.

“What’s this bit you’ve been scribbling over?” asked Sirius, squinting his eyes and tilting the parchment in an attempt to decipher her messy scrawl.

“Oh, the Wolfsbane projections. Obviously the cost of ingredients will fluctuate based on availability and seasonality but most pressing is the fact that we don’t really have any idea of how many lycanthropes there currently are living in Britain. The last census was taken in 1982, in the aftermath of the war.”

“And that was just counting how many had gone to You-Know-Who’s side,” he said grimly.

“Exactly. If we’re to make Wolfsbane available to all, then we need to know how many we need to cater for.”

“The Registry?”

“Hardly sufficient. Is Remus registered?”

“Good point. St Mungo’s, then?”

“That’s one avenue. The Werewolf Advisory Group also has some contacts, and I was hoping Remus might be able to help with that too… I’m optimistic that we can make a better estimate than ‘over 30 but probably fewer than 3000’.”

“Classic Ministry,” he snorted. “Vague as fuck.”

“I’d like to include some comments from Poppy about treatment too, because I suspect she has more experience than anyone in the aftermaths of the Full.” Sirius bristled, and she smiled. “Apart from you, of course.”

“Yeah, you should talk to Poppy. But keep anything you use anonymous.”

Clementine looked at him curiously.

“Not many people know there was a werewolf at Hogwarts, even now,” he explained. “I don’t want anyone to start digging around and find out it was Moony.”

“Alright,” she agreed. “I hadn’t considered that. I’ll seek her out when we go up to the school tomorrow and see if she’s willing to participate.”

“Does Dumbledore know why you’re going to see him?” Sirius asked, changing tact.

“Of course. I was hardly going to spring Regulus on him out of the blue. He might have had a heart attack, seeing a former student rise from the dead. Can you _imagine_ if Albus Dumbledore died? Right in front of me?”

“Oh, the scandal,” he said with a lop-sided grin. “I can see the headlines now: _Supreme Mugwump dies at the feet of Society Princess._ ”

“Don’t call me that,” she grumbled, tossing a screwed-up ball of parchment at him. He swatted it away lazily.

“Sorry, I forgot you stopped being a Society Princess once you started living a life of sin shacking up with the gay blood-traitor and his half-blood concubine.”

“The sacrifices I have made,” she sighed.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be able to tart yourself up for a double page spread soon enough.”

“What did you just say about my wife?”

Sirius and Clementine both turned their heads to the doorway, where Regulus was standing with damp hair and a raised brow, looking the most dishevelled she had seen him since his return. _And handsome_. She smiled, wondering when he had developed this uncanny ability to walk into a room precisely at the worst point of the conversation.

“He called me a _tart._ You should probably hex him to defend my honour. I’d recommend the Instant Scalping Hex.”

“Oi! _Liar!_ I thought you were meant to be a Hufflepuff!”

She stuck her tongue out at him, childishly. Sirius retaliated in kind. Regulus rolled his eyes at the pair of them and came to sit on the arm of Clementine’s chair, pulling a copy of her notes towards him.

“You smell nice,” she murmured, leaning into him. He was wearing a soft cotton shirt with the top buttons undone, the pale pink scars that crept over his collarbone visible in the light of the afternoon sun, and he smelled of that cologne he used to wear all those years ago. Woody and warm with something spicy-sweet and quite enticing.

“Do I?” he said nonchalantly, though she could see his lips curling into a smile.

“Merlin, is this how you two flirt? No wonder you haven’t been—”

“Sirius.”

“Some of us favour subtlety, brother,” Regulus said, keeping his eyes resolutely on the parchment in his hand.

“You’re so bloody subtle you can’t even—”

“ _Sirius!_ ” Clementine hissed.

“What is this?” asked Regulus, gesturing to her notes.

“Clem’s frittering away the Black fortune on Werewolf Rights.”

“Is that so?”

“I told you about our philanthropic endeavours, remember darling?” she said, smiling sweetly up at Regulus while aiming a kick at his brother underneath the desk.

“You didn’t say anything about werewolves,” he frowned.

“Well, no, there wasn’t time to tell you _everything._ But I can go through it all with you now, if you’d like?”

“Perhaps another time,” he said, his gaze flickering over to Sirius before landing back on her. “We do still _have_ a fortune, don’t we?”

“Of course we do,” she smiled, patting his knee. “Not even _my_ shopping habits could make much of a dent in those vaults. Besides, the rental income from the empty properties of the Estate along with a few modest investments is more than enough to cover this sort of thing.”

“I see,” he frowned again and placed the parchment gently back on the desk. “I didn’t realise you were so… financially-minded.”

“Full of surprises, our Clemmie,” said Sirius, now leaning back in his chair with his arms folded behind his head. “Now, how’d it go with Orpington?”

“Fine,” Regulus shrugged.

“He thinks he can keep you out of Azkaban?”

“He seemed optimistic.”

“Merlin, Reg, you’re _paying_ him to seem optimistic.”

“What do you want me to say, Sirius?” he sighed, folding his arms across his chest. “Orpington’s asked me to compile a timeline of any and all crimes committed during my time in the Dark Lord’s service, a list of known victims and accomplices, details of instances of coercion or duress, the circumstances surrounding my defection and return… it’s a lot, alright?”

Clementine stared up at him in concern, her face draining of colour. That seemed like an awful lot of things and none of them positive. The word _victims_ echoed around her head. _He_ was a victim too, though he had never seen it that way… what if Mortimer Orpington didn’t see it that way either? What if he was setting Regulus up for a fall?

“But it will be fine,” Regulus continued. He looked down at her and took the hand that was now squeezing his knee, lifting it to his lips. “ _We_ will be fine.”

“Alright,” Sirius sighed, though he still looked sceptical. “If you need my help…”

“I know. Thank you.”

“Right then, I’m off to meet Moony at the Leaky,” Sirius said as he rose from his chair and summoned his leather jacket from somewhere in the depths of the house.

“Is that how _you_ flirt, brother?” asked Regulus with a cock of his brow. “Under a cracked lantern with a dusty bottle of butterbeer?”

“Shut up, Reg,” he grumbled, and called over his shoulder as he stalked out of the room. “Go give your wife a good shagging; she’s waited bloody long enough!”

Regulus seemed to stare at the open doorway Sirius had exited through for an age, and when he turned back to face Clementine, surprise writ plainly on his face, she blinked and looked away. Bloody _Sirius_ with his big nose and bigger mouth poking around in other people’s business.

“I…”

“Your brother is an idiot,” she muttered, and bent back over her notes.

“Yes. Well. I could have told you that years ago.”

They fell into silence for a few minutes, the only sound the scratching of Clementine’s quill on parchment. Eventually Regulus rose, and she felt his hand brush lightly against the back of her head. She didn’t dare look up.

“I ought to go and make a start on my statement,” he said carefully. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”

 

 

 

“How are you feeling?” Clementine asked, glancing sideways at Regulus as she checked her hair in the hallway mirror. He’d been unusually quiet all morning, even for him, and had spent all night hunched over his desk leaving Clementine to sleep in her bedroom alone once more. Regulus had assured her that he’d just wanted to concentrate on getting an outline of his _activities_ to Mortimer as quickly as possible but she couldn’t help but worry if Sirius’s pointed comments had had something to do with his absence from her side.

“Fine,” he said tightly. “Why?”

She chewed at the inside of her cheek and busied herself with fastening her cloak so she wouldn’t have to look at that frown on his face.

“Well, we’re off to see the Headmaster. That’s always a bit nerve-wracking, isn’t it?”

“We’re not children, Clementine. It’s hardly as though we’re about to receive a detention for not handing in our homework.”

“No, I suppose not,” she said quietly. _It could be much worse than that._ “I’d better go upstairs and wait for Phineas.”

He nodded and took her position in front of the mirror to fuss with his own hair. She watched his reflection for a moment or two, but when he steadfastly refused to meet her eyes she sighed and made her way up to the guest bedroom. She _hated_ it when he was all snappish like this; it usually meant he was worked up about something and trying to hide it and really, it would be better for everyone if he would just _talk_ to her about whatever it was.

At least she didn’t have to wait long for Phineas. He soon ambled into his portrait to let her know that Albus was ready for them, and Clementine went back downstairs to fetch his great-great-grandson. She found Regulus pacing the hallway, fiddling with the buttons at his cuffs — she would have to remember to ask Kreacher to reinforce them when they returned — and together they flooed directly into the Headmaster’s office at Hogwarts.

“Ah, Mr and Mrs Black,” said Albus, turning from one of his tall bookshelves to greet them as they stepped through the fireplace. “It is a great pleasure to see you both.”

Clementine felt a small burst of pride at being addressed in such a manner — the first time they had been greeted as _Mr and Mrs Black_ since before Regulus’s disappearance — but when she glanced at her husband he didn’t seem to have noticed.

“Good morning, Headmaster,” she said politely and gave him a brief curtsey. Regulus shook his proffered hand and inclined his head ever so slightly, jaw clenched.

“I trust Carina is acclimatising well to having her father back?” he asked.

“She is delighted, isn’t she darling?”

“It appears so.”

“And Harry?” Albus continued.

“He’s getting there.”

“Yes, I imagine it was quite the shock. Clementine, I wonder if I might have a word with you privately before we all sit down.”

“I— yes?”

She saw Regulus frown and open his mouth as if to argue but Albus was already steering her away to the far side of his office, where a shelf full of obscure objects and defies were shimmering and twinkling and humming away.

“You said in your letter that no one outside of your family is aware of Regulus’s return. Is that still the case?” he said, his voice grave.

“Yes— oh, and Mortimer Orpington. Our family solicitor.”

“Very well. And I assume you have checked that this man is indeed your husband, and not an imposter?”

“Excuse me?” Clementine whispered, an icy fear clenching at her throat. Because that thought had never even crossed her mind and he _wasn’t_. He _couldn’t_ be.

“You are aware that there are some members of our society that might wish to infiltrate your family… to gain access to a certain boy, perhaps?” he was staring down at her through his spectacles, piercing her with his gaze, and making her feel like a schoolgirl once again. “What better way to accomplish such a thing than by impersonating the long-lost husband of one with such a gentle and trusting heart as yourself, Clementine?”

“I…” she glanced over to the window where Regulus was standing, arms held behind his back as he gazed out across the castle grounds. “I know my husband…”

“I don’t doubt that you _knew_ him, perhaps better than anyone. But there are ways: human transfiguration, the Polyjuice Potion…”

“I know him, Headmaster,” she said more firmly.

“During the war,” he said carefully. “We in the Order had ways of determining whether or not the wizard in front of us was truly who they claimed to be.”

“I have never seen Regulus’s patronus.”

“No matter. We would often use security questions.”

“Please, go ahead. I’m sure my husband would be willing to answer anything you ask of him, within reason.”

“I would have you ask the questions, Clementine” She looked up at him sharply. His face was set. There was no hint of warmth in his eyes, now. “For as you have established, Clementine: _you know him._ ”

“What would you have me ask?” she said, resigned.

“Perhaps the last thing you said to him, and the last he said to you?”

Clementine grit her teeth and strode over to the window, hesitating only when she came within touching distance of Regulus because this wasn’t _fair_ , this sort of thing ought to remain _private_ and did they really need Albus on their side anyway? She glanced back at the expectant headmaster and knew that they did. They couldn’t guarantee that the press would be on their side, Arcturus had failed to divulge how _he_ would act, and they couldn’t rely on Mortimer’s abilities in a courtroom alone. If she didn’t settled Albus’s doubts now, he would only bring them up at a later date in front of the Wizengamot and place Regulus’s whole future in jeopardy.

“Darling?” she said gently, placing a hand on his arm.

Regulus turned from the window and fixed her with a questioning gaze. She felt Albus’s impassive stare on her back and tried to convey to her husband how sorry and guilty she felt for having to ask these things of him.

“Darling, do you remember the last thing I said to you, that night I went out for dinner with your mother and you… and you left…?”

He stared at her for a moment or two, eyes flicking over to Albus. A narrow line formed between his brows before he answered, his voice slow and deliberate. “You told me not to do anything foolish while you were gone.”

“And…” she swallowed, clasping her hands together to try and stop them from trembling. “Do you remember the last thing you wrote, in the letter that you left behind for me?”

“What is the meaning of this?” he hissed, leaning towards her.

“I—”

“Answer the question, Regulus, if you please,” said Albus. He had crossed the room and was standing close by, watching them carefully.

Regulus sighed heavily and closed his eyes before reciting, “ _I have loved thee with the breath, smiles, tears, of all my life — and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death._ ”

“I gather that is accurate, Clementine?”

She nodded, turning away from them to surreptitiously wipe a tear from her eye.

“Excellent,” Albus beamed. “Now that we have cleared that little matter up, we may continue. Please, take a seat.”

They did as he asked, Regulus sitting with a huff more reminiscent of his brother. Clementine sat more carefully, concentrating on unfastening her cape and smoothing down her skirt while she regained her composure. To have such memories thrust upon her so suddenly… she glanced at Regulus, and wondered if that was an explanation for why he had been acting so defensively this morning. He had spent all night extracting some of his own most potent memories, after all.

Albus wasted no time in asking about the nature of Regulus’s return. He told his old headmaster of his regrets at ever joining the Death Eaters, of his desire to defect, and how he had faked his own death to escape. He explained how he had been living and working in the Balkans when he had caught snatches of rumours about a darkness, a haunted forest, possessions and wraiths.

The headmaster had grown quiet at this, watching Regulus intently with his fingers steepled beneath his chin.

“Such rumours have reached my ears, too,” he said carefully.

“And do you believe, as I do, that this wraith is whatever remains of the Dark Lord?”

“That is one theory.”

The two men stared at each other warily, neither one willing to give up what little information they had.

“The wraith has fled Albania,” Regulus said eventually. “I believe it is making its way to Britain, if it is not here already.”

“You _believe?_ ”

“I do.”

Clementine glanced over at her husband, wanting to take his hand and reassure him but not sure if she should dare when he was in such a tense and unforgiving mood.

“Regulus, you were always a remarkably intelligent boy,” Albus said, rising from his chair. He turned towards the tall window that Regulus had been gazing out of earlier. “I do not believe that you would have returned to Britain, risking your life and potentially that of your wife, on a mere whim.”

“No, I would not,” Regulus lied.

“Did you come here today to seek my advice?”

“Your assistance.”

“I see. And in what capacity might I be of assistance?”

“I will be handing myself in to the Ministry, with the intention of clearing my name. Orpington is working with me on producing a statement and a full confession of the crimes I have committed in the Dark Lord’s name—”

“And how do you intend to banish this… _wraith_ , if you are sentenced to Azkaban?”

“Do you think that likely?” Clementine asked in a rush, leaning forwards in her seat. “Mortimer said—”

“Mr Orpington is a marvellous lawyer, with much experience in this area. I’m sure that Regulus is in very safe hands.”

“My intention is to get through the trial, if there should be one, and if it should come to Azkaban… I trust my wife’s judgement in how to move forward.”

Clementine looked back at Regulus in surprise, this time not hesitating to take his hand. His skin felt cold and clammy, and he squeezed her hand as he met her eyes.

“Might I assume that you are seeking to benefit from my influence among the Wizengamot?”

Regulus inclined his head.

“Very well. Bring me a copy of your statement when you are finished, Regulus, and we will proceed from there.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Regulus said as he rose and went to shake Albus’s hand. “I will send word through Phineas Nigellus when I am ready. Clementine?”

“Go on ahead,” she said softly. “I would like to see Poppy before I return home.”

“Very well,” he replied, and bid farewell as he stepped into the fireplace.

“Will you… will you look out for Carina?” Clementine asked, turning back towards Albus as Regulus disappeared through the green flames.

“More than usual?”

“I have always tried to shield her from the press, from what the wider world thought of her father… but I suspect that there have been incidents here, with the other children, that she has not told any of us about. I worry that things might get more difficult for her once Regulus’s trial gets underway. Once his past is brought to the surface again.”

“The wellbeing of my students is always a priority, Clementine.”

“One priority among many, I imagine.”

Unsaid accusations of the Headmaster’s neglect of students past and present weighed heavy in the air between them.

“Age does not, regretfully, always result in wisdom,” he said carefully. “However, I shall do whatever is in my power to ensure that Hogwarts remains a haven for those who need it.”


	19. vale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus felt an unusual warmth spread through his chest and he stood a little taller, hands clasped behind his back. He couldn’t remember a time that anyone had ever deemed anything that he had done as being cool. He wondered if this was how Sirius felt, all the time. No wonder he always looked so sure of himself.

The end of the school holidays made Grimmauld Place as hectic as Regulus had ever known it to be. It was as though the house had been taken over by two miniature whirlwinds as Carina and Harry clattered up and down the stairs like a herd of erumpents, yelling about homework and robes and owl treats. It was a far cry from the enforced sedateness of his own schooldays.

“MUM! Harry’s got my Herbology textbook and he won’t give it back!”

“No I haven’t!”

“Yes you _have!_ You didn’t bother bringing yours back so you took mine to finish your essay and now I can’t find it so you _must_ still have it!”

With a sigh and a groan that made him feel twice his age, Regulus rose from his chair and stepped onto the landing to see if he might help resolve this latest argument. But when greeted with the sight of parchment scraps, odd socks, spilled ink and what looked like the entire contents of a first year’s potions kit strewn down the staircase and across the landing carpet he made a hasty retreat back into the library.

“Carina, please stop shouting,” came Clementine’s tired voice. Regulus felt like a coward for leaving her to deal with the drama (again) and hesitated near the door.

“But I can’t find it!”

“That doesn’t mean you have to go around shouting and creating such a mess. Please clean this up.”

“Make Kreacher do it.”

“It’s _your_ responsibility to clean up your messes Carina, not Kreacher’s.”

“What’s the point in even having a house-elf then?”

“Don’t be so disrespectful! Kreacher’s existence does _not_ revolve around you. I want this tidied up before I get back with your clean robes, do you understand?”

“ _Fine._ ”

Harry slunk into the library and stopped, surprised, when he saw Regulus lurking near the doorway.

“Sorry, I was just—”

“It’s alright,” said Regulus, and gestured towards the door. “I heard. Is it always like this before you go back to school?”

Harry raised a shoulder in a shrug and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I s’pose.”

Regulus regarded the boy thoughtfully. He looked rather forlorn. Perhaps he wasn’t particularly looking forward to going back to Hogwarts tomorrow — or perhaps it was just bickering with Carina that had put him in such a sombre mood.

“Perhaps we could have a look for Carina’s textbook?”

“I didn’t take it!” Harry said hurriedly.

“I didn’t say you did. If Carina is anything like her mother it will have been abandoned beneath a pile of clothes or left forgotten in the bottom of her trunk. Here,” he raised his wand. “ _Accio._ ”

To Regulus’s surprise, the Herbology textbook in question didn’t come zooming from Carina’s bedroom or someplace else in the house. Instead, it wriggled its way out of a nearby bookshelf and floated neatly into his hand. Regulus handed it to Harry, who turned it over and peered suspiciously inside the front cover as if to ensure that it really was the same book that Carina had accused him of taking.

“Kreacher must have been quite fastidious in his tidying up last night,” Regulus remarked.

“Yeah. Well, thanks…” Harry said awkwardly and turned to leave.

“Before you go,” said Regulus, stalling him. “I have something I thought you might be interested in.”

Harry looked at him in confusion, but took a few steps closers. Regulus reached over to a stack of books at the side of the chair where he had been sitting and lifted the top one from the pile. He looked down at it fondly and gave a little sigh of nostalgia, his hand sweeping over the worn leather cover. The gold lettering on the front was faded but remained just about visible: _Snatching the Snitch, the Comprehensive Guide to Seeker Strategy (fifty-seventh edition)._

He felt oddly nervous as he turned back to Harry and offered him the book. Clementine and Carina and, well, _everyone_ had commented on how much Harry loved Quidditch and how keen he was to try out for the team next year… so maybe he should have waited to give him the book until September? Or the summer at least, so he would be able to actually _use_ the book? Was it cruel to give it to him now, when he would only be able to practice on the terrible old school brooms at Hogwarts? Did the school even _have_ practice brooms available any more? They had always been so terrible and old even when he had been a child… perhaps he could make a donation or purchase some new ones for the school when he had cleared his name.

“I’m sure there are newer editions available,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “But I hope you will still find it as useful as I did when I was your age.”

“This is _brilliant_ ,” Harry said, and a grin was spreading wider across his face as he flipped through the pages. The book was filled with strategies, plays, formations, all illustrated with moving diagrams, as well as recounts of the quickest and most outrageous snitch catches in Quidditch history, and the on- and off-pitch exploits of famous Seekers. “What are these?”

He was pointing at the shimmering silver page markers that were scattered throughout the book seemingly at random.

“Ah, I placed those to mark my favourite moves. Or ones that I wanted to try.”

“ _Cool,_ ” Harry breathed.

Regulus felt an unusual warmth spread through his chest and he stood a little taller, hands clasped behind his back. He couldn’t remember a time that _anyone_ had ever deemed anything that he had done as being _cool._ He wondered if this was how Sirius felt, all the time. No wonder he always looked so sure of himself.

“Well, if you have any questions about anything…”

“Yeah. Thanks!” Harry grinned and closed the book with a snap. “I’d better give Carina her textbook back…”

“Of course.”

Regulus followed him to the door and watched with interest as Harry gave the Herbology tome back to Carina. She looked rather grumpy as she sat cross-legged in the middle of the landing, balling socks into pairs without bothering to see if they matched. She accepted the book with a muttered _thanks._

“What’s that?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at the old Seeker book that Harry was holding in his other hand.

“Oh, just an old book Regulus gave me,” Harry said with a shrug.

“What? Why?” Carina’s mouth dropped open and she lifted her gaze from Harry to her father, standing a few paces behind him. Regulus could see the confusion and hurt in her eyes and felt a pang of guilt.

“I also have something for you, Carina,” he said quickly. “I was going to give it to you later but I suppose you might as well have it now. Come on, it’s upstairs.”

“But Mum said I have to clean this…”

“What your mother doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” he said, throwing his daughter a wink. With a wave of his wand the spilled ink dried up, the scattered herbs and vials packed themselves back away into their potion kit, and the carpet looked as good as new again.

“But…” Carina’s eyes found Harry again and she cast him a suspicious look.

“I didn’t see anything!” Harry grinned, hands raised in front of him, and ran downstairs.

“Come on,” Regulus insisted, and he and his daughter walked up to the top floor of the house side by side. Carina took a seat on his big bed and watched as Regulus fished around for the gift he had made for her in his bedside table.

“Parchment?” she asked, not bothering to conceal the disappointment in her voice as he handed her the gift.

“It’s not _just_ parchment,” he said, a little defensively. “Sirius told me about the communication mirrors that he uses to talk to you and Harry while you were away at school. I couldn’t help but think that it must be terribly inconvenient for you, since you and Harry are in different houses and different classes a lot of the time.”

“It’s okay,” she shrugged, curling the edges of the parchment in her hands. “Me and Mum write a lot instead.”

“Well, this will be like writing letters. Only quicker.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, looking up at him.

“Here,” he said and took a short quill from the breast pocket of his shirt. “Write something.”

She looked intrigued and balanced the sheet of parchment on her knee, writing the world _hello_ in wobbly cursive. Regulus produced a matching sheet, unfolded it, and showed it to her: it bore a perfect replica of the word she had just written.

“The pages are twins,” he explained, as her eyes grew wide. “Whatever you write on your sheet will appear on mine, instantly. And whatever I write here, will appear on yours.”

He demonstrated by writing _hello Carina_ , and she gasped with delight.

“Does it stay there forever? What happens when there’s no more space on the parchment?”

“The writing will stay there until one of us clears our page. The spell is _abfugio_ ; you just need to tap your wand to the page and the writing will disappear. Give it a try.”

“I don’t have my wand with me,” she said.

“You should _always_ have your wand about your person, even when you’re at home,” he said, perhaps a little too sternly. “But it’s alright, you can use mine.”

She looked at him as if he were offering her Excalibur and gingerly reached out her hand to take the wand from him. He watched her curiously as she held the pockmarked wood gently in her palm, turning it over and appearing to examine every inch of its scratched and dented surface. He found himself wishing he had taken better care of it in the face of such scrutiny.

“Is it cypress?” she asked.

“It is,” he nodded, impressed at her knowledge. “With a dragon heartstring core.”

“ _I knew it,_ ” she whispered. “ _The wood of heroes._ ”

Regulus shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t think there’s much truth in those old rhymes.”

“Mum’s is pear. Resilient.”

“And yours?”

“Sycamore. _For the curious_ ,” she grinned at this, then cleared her throat before tapping Regulus’s wand to her parchment. “ _Abfugio!_ ”

Their handwriting slowly dissolved into nothing, leaving both their pages blank once more. Carina kicked her feet against the side of the bed in pleasure and, a little reluctantly, handed Regulus back his wand.

“Yours is quite plain, like mine,” she observed. “Mum’s is really pretty with all those swirly bits on the handle.”

“Yes, her wand has always been like that. Some people carve patterns or symbols onto theirs, for protection or enhancements or just to make them look a bit different, I suppose.”

“I could do that!”

“No,” he said firmly. “Not until you come of age.”

“How come?”

“It’s bad luck.”

“Alright,” she said, and nodded sagely. She looked back down at the parchment in her hands, stroking down its edges with her thumbs. “So… if I write to you when I’m away at school, you’ll write back to me?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you!” she said, and suddenly she was hugging him, her arms squeezing around him and her face buried in his shirt. “This is the best thing anyone has ever given to me.”

He was quite positive that was an exaggeration, but allowed himself to be pulled into the glow of her happiness and hugged her back.

The following morning, Regulus didn’t quite know what to do with himself.

While Clementine was sitting quite serenely at the dining table with a cup of tea in hand, idly flicking through the latest issue of _Charmer_ magazine and seemingly unaware of the hubbub around her, Sirius was thundering up and down the stairs with armfuls of laundry, leaving trails of socks and sweaters in his wake. The children were yelling again upstairs, and Lupin was, bizarrely, acting as Kreacher’s sous chef down in the kitchen.

“I thought they’d packed last night?” Regulus asked, glancing towards the ceiling.

“Oh, they claimed they had. Harry will have forgotten to pack his uniform and upon finding his trunk already full will be deciding whether chocolate frogs are more necessary than trousers. Carina will have misplaced her textbooks again and will be blaming everyone but herself for their disappearance. Again.”

“Perhaps I should—”

“No, sit,” she said with a sympathetic smile. “There’s little more to be done. We’ll be leaving at half ten and if there’s anything they haven’t packed they’ll just have to make do until we can send it up to them.”

So Regulus decided to follow his wife’s lead, taking the seat beside her and reaching for the morning’s _Prophet_ which was lying at the head of the table. He looked out to the hallway at the sound of one of the children dragging their trunk down the stairs, creating a loud and obnoxious _thump_ on every step. Regulus massaged his temples and wished someone would just levitate it.

Harry met Lupin outside the dining room, his dark hair sticking up in all directions.

“All packed?” asked Lupin. “Is Hedwig in her cage?”

“Yep.”

“Uniform?”

“Yep.”

“Homework all finished?”

“Erm… yes?”

“It would be nice to get through the rest of the year without any more detentions, but I suppose you have a family tradition to uphold,” he sighed. “Go on, breakfast is ready. Carina!”

Harry slumped into a chair across the table from them as Carina’s voice echoed from somewhere upstairs. Remus placed a platter of sliced fruit and delicious-looking pastries onto the table before taking the seat next to Harry.

“How come we’re eating in here?” asked Harry, reaching for a particularly sticky pecan plait that Regulus had been eyeing up.

“So I can keep an eye on you all,” Clementine said. She closed her magazine and poured Harry a tall glass of juice. “I can’t very well do that from the kitchen, can I?”

Harry shrugged and began tearing his pecan plait into strips. He sprayed flakes of warm pastry all over the white tablecloth which Lupin deftly vanished before Kreacher could arrive and give him one of those dreaded Looks.

Said house-elf appeared next, loaded down with steaming plates of bacon and eggs and baked beans and toast. Sirius and Carina were right behind him. Carina slipped into the seat next to Regulus looking quite morose, while Sirius bounded around the table and began heaping piles of food onto Harry’s plate.

“Are you looking forward to going back to school?” Regulus asked his daughter in a low voice.

She shrugged, staring down at her plate as she ran a finger around its edge.

“You’re not excited to see your friends again?”

“I wish you were coming too,” she said, slouching down in her seat so she was leaning against his arm. Clementine glanced over at them and gave him a warm smile.

“I think I’m a little too old to be going back to school,” he said lightly.

She gave a heavy sigh but was immediately distracted as Sirius had apparently grown satisfied with the mountain of food he had bestowed on Harry and was now attempting to give Carina the same.

“Stop! I can’t eat that!” she cried, covering her plate with her hands.

“Why not? It’s bacon!”

“I’m a _vegetarian!_ ”

Regulus looked to Clementine, who merely shrugged.

“No you’re not,” Harry scoffed.

“Yes I _am!_ ”

“You can have eggs though, right?” asked Sirius. She nodded and watched warily as Sirius deposited his forkful of bacon rashers onto Regulus’s plate and scooped a rather large amount of scrambled eggs onto hers.

“Eat up, Reg!” Sirius beamed at Regulus’s raised eyebrow and ruffled his hair. “You need beefing up.”

Breakfast continued without further argument as Harry chatted away happily about how he was looking forward to seeing his friends Ron and Neville and Hermione, and even the half-giant Hagrid who was apparently still both gamekeeper _and_ benevolent towards all Gryffindors. Carina remained glum, but managed to get through most of her breakfast.

Sirius was jittery. Regulus could see his leg bouncing up and down beneath the table and noticed how he couldn’t keep his hands still, constantly moving between his cutlery and his mug of coffee, twisting in the tablecloth and Lupin’s sleeve as if he were using the man as an anchor. He watched them carefully, noting how Lupin’s steady presence seemed to have, gradually, a calming effect on his brother. He realised that Lupin did a much better job of regulating Sirius’s ever-changing moods than _he_ had ever done.

All too soon, it was time to leave. Lupin embraced both children, patting them on the head and bidding them to behave themselves.

“But not too much,” Sirius added with a wink. Harry laughed loudly and shook Regulus’s hand, thanking him again for the book. Carina’s bottom lip was trembling and she darted forwards to give Regulus a hug so tight she almost knocked him over. She gave his cheek a wet kiss and made him promise to write every single night, and then disappeared into the green flames of the fireplace holding her mother’s hand.

“It doesn’t get any easier,” Lupin said, unhelpfully, and patted Regulus’s shoulder as he left the room.

He retreated upstairs under the pretence of finishing up his statement to the Ministry but found himself unable to focus on anything but his daughter. It was decidedly strange (though definitely _nice_ ) to think that his presence had had such an effect on her that she was feeling reluctant to go back to school, back to her friends.

He wondered what she was doing now. Had she found her friends? Was she in a carriage with them, or sitting with Harry? Did they share friends at all, or did they go their separate ways at school? Did she like buying treats from the trolley on the train or would she wait for the feast in the Great Hall — should he have asked Kreacher to prepare something for her to take with her in case she got hungry? Did she even have any gold for the trolley? Did Clementine give her pocket money? Had she remembered to pack everything — had she remembered the parchment he had given her? Would she use it? Tonight, perhaps, after the feast when she was back in her dormitory? What was her dormitory like? Did she have photographs and postcards around her bed, as he had done? Should they have taken photographs during the holidays, so she might— no. She wasn’t allowed to talk about him to her friends, not yet. Would she remember? Or would she give him away, accidentally, a slip of the tongue?

There were footsteps on the landing, and he turned as Clementine entered the room. She was still wearing her coat; she must have come straight to him after leaving King’s Cross.

“You’re wet,” he remarked, reaching out for a strand of her damp hair as she came to stand beside his chair.

“It’s raining. _Maman_ always said that rain at the platform was auspicious, a sign of a good term to come.”

“Was it ever? Auspicious, I mean?” he asked, casting a drying charm over her as she unfastened her coat.

“Perhaps,” she said, her pink-stained lips twitching into a smile. “I met you, didn’t I?”

“Some might call that the opposite of auspicious.”

“Some. But not me.”

She sighed and took a perch on the arm of his chair, snaking her arm around his neck as she leaned into him.

“Lupin said it never gets easier. When they leave,” he said quietly as he gazed out of the window.

“They’re a part of you, even if they don’t share your blood… I miss them both terribly when they’re gone.”

He nodded and considered how fortunate the two children were to have so many people that cared about them enough to miss them when they were away from home. He was certain that nobody in his family had ever missed _him_ when he had gone to school. Quite the opposite, in fact. He imagined Walburga and Orion relished the days when their children were old enough to be forgotten about.

“For a long time,” said Clementine, her voice filled with a wistfulness. “Carina felt like the only connection I had left to you. A part of you was kept alive through her, in her expressions or her mannerisms or her curiosity… and whenever she was away from me, it was as though she had taken a piece of my heart away with her.”

He swallowed, feeling that tightness in his throat, the guilt that his actions had caused her such pain.

“I will still miss her. I’m still dreadfully sad that she will be gone until the summer. But I’m not so sad as I would be if you were not here. I couldn’t bear it if you were taken from me again,” she whispered, sliding from the arm of the chair and into his lap.

She was talking about the possibility of Azkaban, he knew, hanging over their heads like a dark cloud. As she nestled into the warmth of his neck he held her close and wished he could ease her fears. He couldn’t, because they were his fears too.

The corner of his statement — his _confession_ — peered out from its hiding place between the thick pages of a Latin dictionary, leering at him. Regulus closed his eyes and tried to forget the dates he had written, the names he had remembered and the ones he had never known, the deeds he had heard about and witnessed and done. But forgetting about those things was about as possible as forgetting the woman in his arms had been. An eternity could pass before he would forget.

He wished he could tell her that her fears were for naught, that there would be no trial. Or if there were, that it would be just for show. He wished he could tell her that he would be here by her side for a lifetime or more.

Instead, he held her tightly and tried to commit this moment to memory. The curve of her waist, the warmth of her body, the beating of her heart against his chest. Her soft breath on his neck and the smell of her perfume mixed with the dampness of the rain outside.

He hoped this memory would be enough to shield him from the dementors’ despair, should it come to that.


End file.
